A Kindness
by Hawkz
Summary: (A terrible AU fanfic) Master Loki and slave Jane. Wherein Jane fights for freedom and Loki fights to keep what's his. Dark, dark, dark Loki, but eventual, way down the line Lokane (ish).
1. Chapter 1

**So many things wrong with this I don't know where to start. This is to fulfill my terrible, terrible fetish for the whole master-slave relationship. My soul is damned to some lower level of hell for publishing this but hey, we all have out vices. I also wanted to try writing a darker Loki. A really darker Loki. (Success! ...I think) **

**Don't expect regular updates. I just had to get this out of my system and now I go back to WMHB. Cheers.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_A Kindness: Chapter 1_

The crowd hooted and hollered, mad and drunk over the capture of the beast and the a perception of victorious superiority that proceeded it. Man rules over beast once more. Soldiers and noblemen with their rapiers squiggled forth, fearful and hesitant until their swords drew blood, after which they strutted like an alpha wolf in spring. So cocksure of their brawn bleeding into lecherous arrogance. Never mind that the beast was chained, starved, dehydrated, reduced from his former greatness until only only a hollow husk survived. Those that survived the beast's capture showed off wounds and healing scars as if they did more than scream and flee. The cage occupied the center of the festivities initially, but games and shows bullied it off to the side where it was subject to the cruelties of the city's citizens. Children, the elderly, the rich, the poor, the free, even some enslaved; all mocked the beast's predicament and shuddered in fear when it deigned a snarl or bodily shift. Only when the cage held, the hexes and charms suppressing the beast's prowess, did audacity seep back into the audience. So long as the cage held.

Jane gripped the leash a little tighter, feeling bilious and edgy at the blatant sadism permeating the crowd. They cared not for another's suffering, and certainly not for hers. Jane was a slave. For a society to accept such barbarisms as valor beget a society tolerable to the subjugation of others against their will. Staring at the caged beast provoked a sympathetic light in her eyes.

_Yes_, she wanted to say, _I know your pain._

The dog yawned and scratched its ear with its hind leg, wholly unconcerned with the affairs of man. Its coat was washed an brushed with a shine that spoke of a pampered upbringing and perfumed oils scented in its fur. Meanwhile Jane hadn't bathed since last week and the sweat from her labors resulted in a malodorous whiff that threatened to grow. Smells of mud, dogs, grass and meadows coated her as much as clothing did. Speaking of which, she needed to change her uniform, too. The Master had guests coming this eventide and he despised disgraces in his presence. Jane knew how he dealt with disgraces.

Jane gave her companion a rueful smile, but the beast looked not at her, not at anyone, and so she moved on. She couldn't help throwing a look over her shoulder as she walked away. The beast looked to be in pain, physical pain. Jane shook her head to dislodge the thought. Trouble would be an understatement should she be caught.

The Master's house was large but not grand. He had wealth but no title, so he took to courting the nobility for whatever bones of grace and prestige they might throw his way. Jane returned the hound to the Master's study, silent and unobserved as slaves should be, and departed just the same. There was no blessing like the ignorance of the Master to your existence. The Master's hunting hounds stayed in the stables and it were these dogs Jane preferred to dote on. The alpha was crazy about kissing her and liked to sleep beside her—along with the rest of the pack, all huddled into crevices for warmth or laid about at obtuse angles so that some part of them touched her—and it was the alpha whose head rested on her stomach as it rose and fell with each breath. The hounds may listen to the Master but they loved the slave. Jane in turn loved them; arguably she was the only one who did. Jane tumbled with them, fought with them, ruled over them, fed them, nursed their wounds, sung to them deep in the night, whelped them as puppies, and eased them back into the earth when their time came. She was their world and they hers.

It was no secret amongst the other servants and not one they were keen to share outside their circle. Chances are the Master would see it as an insult and seek punishment. How could his hounds love a slave over the master, their true master in his eyes. The other servants may not love Jane but a code of conduct existed: Servants, slaves, their ilk stick together, for if they don't defend each other no one else will. So the cook who ate while he worked and the silver polisher who nicked pennies from drawers and Jane who had the love and loyalty of the Master's hounds had allies. Probably not friends, maybe never friends, but silent allies who omitted truths and observances to keep the peace within their circle. To give one of their own one less beating.

The hounds bayed at her arrival, smelling her through the door and Jane knew she'd really have to bath well after her visit. The Master had taken them hunting earlier—hunting the beast as did all the other noblemen and their sycophants—and the hounds were covered in filth and grass stains and blood and soaked. Muddied paw prints on her uniform was a small price to pay for affection. Love was a rare commodity for one of her kind. Some said a weakness. A slave who offered love was a fool; a fool who courted dangers and despair by offering the one thing their masters could not lay claim to. But whoever said Jane gave her love to the Master? No, she had love for the common man, the stranger, the children, the hounds. The beast. Older slaves muttered warnings. She played a dangerous distraction, they said. Jane paid them little mind. She knew about kindness and its consequences.

A small act of kindness can change the world, her mother often said. Jane liked keeping what she could of her parents alive. For her father, it was the sky and stars; for her mother, these quaint adages by which she lived her life. It didn't always help, but it kept the cynicism and gloom at bay. So it was one of these truisms that Jane chanted to herself as she crept from the stables, away from the warmth of the hunting dogs and to the beast's cage six days hence. Six days to gather her courage.

Wolflike, thewy and ancient in ways her people could only fantasize and envy in other creatures. Creatures similar to the one that wandered too close to this city-state were like to be ensnared. Some escaped, some didn't. This proved to be one of the unlucky ones. Jane could relate. Luck seldom favored her either. However careful her steps, the bucket's water sloshed over the side, which drew a grimace from her when it chanced to hit her fingers, though it had significantly cooled by the time she made it to the beast.

Blue-green eyes glowed from within the cage, shining with unnatural intelligence as they watched her from afar. Jane couldn't keep the shivers from rolling up and down her spine, her flesh prickling in warning. Primal senses buried deep generation after generation stirred into being. _Turn back,_ they said. She courted danger, potential death by going to this creature. Jane steeled herself, still trembling from the cool air and a niggling sense of fear but her steps were resolute. No turning back now. Not while the poor thing continued to hurt. Another's pain unsettled her to this day. Call it an additional weakness, one of many she had.

Those eyes watched her, and when she grew too close its lips curled back revealing sword sharp canines, all pearly white and capable to snapping bone, steel—anything. Jane gulped. It did not look happy to see her. Jane opened her mouth to speak but her jaw clicked shut.

_Does it even understand speech?_ _Probably not. _Though those keen eyes says it understood everything else; it understood how cruel people could be. Jane's eyes flickered to its wounds, inflicted by sword and stone. He may not be able to fit through the bars but Jane was small—always small, still small—and they did not hinder her.

A lethal paw, claws extended, caught her shoulder and drew a strangled cry from her. Blood. Blood flowed between her fingers trying to stem the laceration. From outside the cage, she withdrew the rag—lukewarm as was the water—and pressed it to her injury, wheezing out a hiss. The rag cleaned up her wound some, doing no more than wiping away the blood really, but Jane kept eye contact with the creature.

"Your turn," she said, her words stronger than she felt. One of its ears twitched, eyeing her actions then going back to her face. The tension in its muscles mitigated some. Inhaling and fighting to amass audacity, or rather willingness to take foolhardy risks, back through the bars she traveled, back into the cage. This time it didn't swipe at her but Jane knew better than to think it friendly. Hostility bled into its eyes, held back only by a smidgen of tolerance plus curiosity. She, Jane was a curiosity. Once more her Adam's apple bobbed as she gulped trying and failing to swallow and bury the fear crawling up her throat. Crouching by its ribs, under the watchful stare of the beast, Jane cleaned the beast's injuries. When she concentrated on the blood and gashes, Jane could almost imagine him one of the hounds and her fingers gained a tender, delicate touch.

A growl rumbled through its body when her hands dug into a painful looking wound that spanned from the belly to the back side. Jane flinched and withdrew her hands, chancing a glance at the beast. Its eyes were closed, paws clenched, otherwise it did not pull away from her ministrations. A couple of frightened breaths later, Jane resumed caring for it. The water was cold and dyed a thick red by the time she finished cleaning its wounds—alas, she had no bandages on her to keep them cleaned—and a dull sun powdered the sky a pale, pale whitish blue along the horizon. She could afford to stay no longer. Though she turned to look at the creature, the beast to not return the favor, keeping his back on her as she left.

One instance of kindness does not a kind person make.

_She would not be come back_, the creature told itself.

And so she didn't. Not until two nights later and then every other night since.

The alpha did not like how she smelled upon her first return, snuffling and shying from her touch like an upset lover. The others clustered around her, sniffing and inquisitive of why she smelled of the beast they hunted only so long ago. Feeding them soothed most of the packs worries along with affectionate rubs and petting for the alpha to huff and forgive her transgression. Jane rolled her eyes at the dog, smiling when he rolled into her stomach like his puppy days. When the doors to the stables banged open, Jane expected Cassandra or stable boy Rook. Her face went ashen and she scrambled to her feet and from there to a bow when the Master stepped into the light. He so rarely came by the stables, unless going for a hunt. Jane's stomach twisted into unpleasant knots when his feet slowed and stopped in front of her.

"My guest last night," the cautious pace of his speech told of drunkenness that continued to leech at his senses, "he inquired about good hounds for the hunt. Where is the stable master? Where is that thrice damned slave?" It was early in the morning, and the stable master always walked the horses for some light exercise least their caretakers wish to run them that day. Jane told him as much in low, respectful tones. The Master frowned, not registering her presence. However, he came back into focus and startled as if just registering her existence.

"You then. Do you know hunting dogs?" Better than he ever would. Better than any in the household. Jane gave a demur, humble reply that she took care of the dogs, yes. He grunted, not really acknowledging her, and ordered her to fetch him some more wine and something to break his fast. Jane bowed again and scurried to the kitchens. Some of the dogs made to follow her but a subtle hand gesture stayed them. She returned promptly, snagging a quick bite of yesterday's bread for herself as she walked back. Unfortunately for her the Master stayed in the stable, eating and drinking and complaining that the stable master was late, damn him. Busying herself with tasks gave her an excuse to wander away. She breathed a near audible sigh of relief when Kairo, the stable master, returned, taking the attentions of the Master with him. Her luck, it seemed, did not extend that far.

"Aye, sir I know the dogs, but Jane here takes care of them, raises them. She knows these dogs better than any one in the stables." Jane cursed his self-deprecating nature. She'd prefer the Master not really know of her.

"The girl?" he said, incredulous.

"Aye, raises them from pups, trains them. She's given you your best hounds in all the years I've been in service, sir. Young but capable. The alpha you're so proud of is her finest work." Jane dared not look up and dared not leave her task, but when the Master barked for her presence, there was little else she could do but obey.

His eyes blinked more than usual, albeit the brightness in his cheeks said he was more awake. Or the wine was going as alcohol does and tempering his headache. It clearly did not improve his mood much as he scowled at her arrival.

"Kairo here says you know my hounds best. Tell me, which is the finest tracker?" Compared to her night with the beast, this man seemed a hundred times more frightening in comparison. Jane fought down her insecurities and answered accordingly.

"Dreyfuss, the spotted hound with the three legs, sire, is your best tracker but Arco is your swiftest hound. I suggest using the two if you desire using the dogs to hunt down anything like rabbits or foxes but if you seek only deer and boars then Ribs alone or with one the the stronger hounds with stronger jaws are better suited. For deer, Mugi is able and good but there is no hound stronger and few faster than your alpha, Kazi. It would be he you want for boar hunting." There was a beat of silence before the Master asked other questions—who sired which pups, their age, health, strength, temperament and Jane answered them all, sometimes forced to have the dogs perform tricks or behavior to prove her point. One glance up showed the Master was looking at her, right _at_ her. Jane licked her lips, mouth and throat feeling painfully dry when the man stayed silent, seeming to think.

"I see." There were a few more beats of silence. "Select hounds for foxes, ready before the midday meal. No more than three. If they do not perform properly, I'll be back." Both servants gave him a bow as he left the stables.

Kairo gave her an encouraging smile. "They'll do fine. Your dogs always do." He left to resume his duties but Jane felt queasy. After all, she knew how the Master dealt with disgraces.

Foxes. Intelligent creatures. Fleet of foot and fighters when circumstances demanded it. Fear of an opponent did not keep them from engaging larger enemies. Her eyes perused the pack members, shifting through all her recollection of the dogs' traits, habits, characteristics, and history of past hunts. Arco the swiftest, Kazi the alpha, and Gunner the cleverest. The latter had rarely been out-tricked by prey and he lived for the praise of others. So long as Master praised him, there was nothing Gunner would not do. Master just had to praise him. Jane bit her lip.

Leaning in front of the herding breed, Jane brushed her finger's through Gunner's black coat. Black and white and shaggy, his coat was delightfully warm in the cooler seasons. Jane rubbed his ears and he hummed in pleasure. "I'm begging you Gunner, please the Master. He may not praise you during the hunt, but I promise you all the belly rubs and pork scraps in the world if you'll do what you do best during this hunt." Gunner tilted his head at the girl's sad tone. He whined, brown eyes showing concern. Jane kissed his brow. The whippet and the alpha got similar treatment just before they departed.

Kazi turned to look at her, his eyes astute, before refocusing on the hunt. The Master sat on his finest buck, a rich brown stallion and dressed in attire almost as pompous as his companions. His guests slouched with a confidence money couldn't buy and they gazed at his show of fine stock with envy and hubris. They both craved what he had and disdained him for it. There was, however, a ring of truth when they complimented his hounds and the Master sat a little straighter.

"I always make sure to raise my own hunting dogs, of course. A man who doesn't know his own dogs, isn't worth much is he? Yes, these I've selected only the finest bitches for and they've been great hunters in the past. Should sire greater hunters in the future." His ignorance and assuming undue plaudits made Jane uncomfortable. If anything should go wrong, his wrath would be double. The Master hated looking bad, especially in front of blue bloods.

The horn sounded and they left the city in pursuit of fox fur.

Jane lost her fear of the men when the hounds returned to her care, Arco limping and Gunner slavering so badly white foam drooled at the side of his mouth. She cooled them down with water and ice, careful they didn't drink so much as to be sick. Poor treatment of her dogs always fueled her rage. She startled when the stable doors banged open a second time that day, the Master ginning and sweeping his arms in elaborate, vain circles.

"And at last, here are the hounds. Fabulous beasts, if I do say so myself." His guests nodded, eyeing the beasts covetously. One pair of eyes found her and Jane patted herself on the back for not flinching.

"Who's the lass?"

"A mere servant. Nothing more," the Master said with a disinterested wave. "She just bathes and feeds the animals. Simple things really."

The guest's eyes sparkled as they read between the lines. "So she raises and trains your dogs. In a way."

The Master's grin grew a defensive edge. "I suppose you could say that. Yes."

"How much for her?" The others started, wondering how the conversation became a sale of a slave. Cupidity was half the core of her Master's soul; the other half was dedicated to business intelligence. He never valued slaves as people, but he was not blind to their uses in labor, knowledge and service skills. His grey eyes did not glance over to her but his posture hardened.

"I'm afraid she's not for sale. The dogs are too attached to her, as you can see. They've always had a weakness for females." The crowd laughed, as if sharing an inside joke and the guest let it slide, smiling, but his eyes found her again and Jane ducked her head to the dog in her lap, making a show of looking for ticks and burs.

"Yes, I can see she's very…attentive. Perhaps if the dogs grow weary of her," his voice trailed off in suggestion.

"Of course, of course. Should the dogs grow weary of her." They smiled at each other, neither wearing a genuine grin and the crowd left soon after that. Jane hugged the dog a little closer to her. Her luck with the Master, it seemed, was running out.

* * *

The beast did not stir awake at her approach any more, never opening his eyes beyond a lazy slit, breathing in her scent and then sighing it out once he verified it was her. Jane continued to clean his wounds, unable to bring bandages with which to wrap them. She wasn't even sure if the townsfolk would notice and if they did, their reactions could be inimical, not good at best. So, she made due with rags and soap and buckets of warm water. Days turning to weeks, weeks to months and now autumn was halfway gone.

She didn't really talk to him, not any thing more than short phrases in low tones. The beast visibly jumped when she began singing once. It turned to look at her, keen blue-green eyes haunting her from within the darkness. Jane's throat closed at the sight and didn't resume singing the rest of the night but the beast's gaze never left her, even as she walked away Jane felt his stare. That had been almost a week past now. Finding out his gender had been, interesting. Yes, interesting. This beast certainly had intelligence. And pride. Massive amounts of pride. When Jane inquired if he was a 'she' because of it's luscious fur coat, made a great performance of showing her just what his gender was. Jane never burned so red before and she swore he wore a smirk by the end of it. She muttered an insult under her breath then and _he_ swatted her with his tail, slapping the wet rap up into her face.

Yep, lots of pride in this one.

His wounds were mostly healed but he looked thin to her. Too thin. Jane chewed her lip in thought. If no one else was feeding him, the beast forgotten since the festivities…

Jane left her bucket in the cage and he turned to watch her go. It was unusual for her to leave before the hour prior to dawn. Every one in the Master's house was asleep, even the 'guard' but even so, Jane winced each time her foot landed on a squeaky floor board. She couldn't carry that much in her hands but bundling it up into a makeshift sack allowed for a larger portion even if she staggered beneath the weight. He was a rather large beast, after all.

It perked up at her arrival, nose flaring and drinking in deep the smell of raw meat. Jane was sure he'd be drooling if he wasn't so proud. She unwrapped it before him, but the beast only sniffed, haughtily rebuffing her tribute. Sighing, she stepped forth, catching his eye, and made a show of ripping off a piece and eating it. She chewed slowly, then getting lost in the flavors. Meat was a rare commodity for her and even raw it invoked pleasing sensations across her palate. When she opened her eyes, the beast was staring at her transfixed. For some reason Jane blushed.

"See? It's not poisoned."

It blinked a few more times at her, sniffed again at her offering and proceeded to eat. Jane beamed a smile at him. He swung around to look at her when she snuggled into his belly, a little awkwardly splayed against his side so she could see the stars.

It was a beautiful, clear sky tonight, star bright and white against the black-blue backdrop.

The flashes of a childhood stung her eyes and her voice worked to mimic her mother's. It was a poor imitation, but if Jane closed her eyes—and she dared not, not with a night this beautiful—then she could imagine her mother singing to her. For now, just her own voice would have to do. Several songs subsequently, when her voice hitched in a way that said it grew hoarse, Jane noticed how slow and resonant, almost bass-like the beast's breathing became.

He was asleep.

Jane tilted her head to see his face. Peaceful. His scowl smoothed into something like Kazi when he was a puppy. It made Jane smile and she was careful not to make noise as she packed up her things and left. She nestled back in between the hounds again, Kazi finding her stomach and resting his head there, huffing his vexation that she continued to leave. She scratched his ears in calming circles and he hummed his delight. Sleep beckoned her, too, and Jane was not long in joining her bedmates.

A rough hand on her shoulder woke her, jarring her unpleasantly. It was Rook, the stable boy. He looked frightened but then again, he always looked scared someone would raise their hand to beat him. It took a few years, but he relaxed more around Jane than before, though still skittish.

"The seneschal wants to see you."

Jane rubbed sleep from her eyes, muscles lethargic. Her brain battled for concentration. The head butler? She yawned.

"He wants to see you after breakfast. I can feed the dogs today," he offered.

"Thanks Rook." Her gratitude was sluggish, like the rest of her body but nothing a slash of cold water wouldn't fix. The seneschal took not a heartbeat to look at her before sending Jane out with some matronly servants who promptly scrubbed, washed and cleaned away her outer layer of dirt and dog smell. It took more than one bottle of shampoo and scented soap but the smells did come out, leaving her reeking of some flowery concoction. They even gave her a tunic and trousers, like the base attire squires wore in casual, very casual, settings. Jane blinked in confusion but obeyed.

The seneschal nodded to himself next time he saw her and wasted no breath with frivolous words. "The Master enjoyed the hunts over the years. Continue your work to such standards." It was as close to praise as he's ever given any servant and Jane inclined a bow. "Your service thus far has earned you this mark of promotion. You are to accompany the Master on his over night hunts."

The news sent a chill down Jane's spine. "What?"

The butler's face remained flat and unemotional. "Wash your ears properly and listen. The Master does not like to repeat himself and neither do I. You will accompany the Master on his over night hunts to take care of the hounds and whatever other tasks he asks of you. His aide will see to his personal wants but you must be ready to assume whatever chores he requests of you. We'll have to teach you numbers and letters of course—"

"I am literate. Sir," she said, tacking on the polite moniker at the end through slightly ground teeth. Surprise came across his face but that was the only emotion he showed. She had not always been in this position and she held onto those memories viscously, even fostering knowledge and memories outside this house to sustain her. One day, she'd get out. One day, she would not longer be here. But that was far in the future and Jane held no illusions presently. Until then, she'd amass knowledge and keep her head down.

The seneschal nodded again, and that was that. He reviewed her duties and rehashed again and again the etiquette and mannerisms expected of her. Like the Master, the butler did not accept disgraces to the house. She was to bath regularly now, at least every three days. Jane kept her head down and nodded. As it was, her promotion did not go unnoticed and not all the other slaves viewed her gains kindly. Some of her greetings went unanswered but Jane merely bit her lip and sought no confrontation. The set of clothing was undyed and the pants one size too big—she had to pull the strings ridiculously tight—but it was better than her previous outfit.

The cook gave her a second glance at dinner, taking in the bathed scents though his eyes caught her lack of shoes. Still a slave. He jerked her nod and handed her the standard bowl of soup and bread. Cook ruled these kitchens and he didn't take brawls at this table, slave or servant or freeman. Nevertheless, Jane ate that night in the stables after taking scraps for her dogs and treats for the younger ones. That night she doesn't go to the beast's cage, staying with her dogs, hugging Kazi next to her for heat, security, and comfort. He stayed near her but his head is up, alert as if listening for dangers, throughout the night and his teeth flash at shadows and sounds.

_Just like his grandmother_, Jane hazily thinks before drifting off to sleep.

Her heart doesn't let her stay away from the beast for long. Confusion wages war when future hunts gain her trinkets, insignificant to the Master but imbued with meaning for one of her status. A comb, regular access to the bathing facilities—soap! shampoo!—little canisters of beeswax, and a vest and gloves for the winter months. But no shoes, never shoes, so she continues to bind her feet with cloth in the snowy times of the year like all her ilk and Jane believes this fact alone keeps their ire at bay. It doesn't matter that she shares her good fortune. The gardener who always gets crackled and bloodied skin under the sun and Jane gives him a generous helping of beeswax for his lips and skin each time she sees him. She sneaks soap out to wash the little ones and they get less sick, their wounds less likely to get infected and even brushes the children's hair, giving the girls braids if it's long enough or cutting the boys' spiky heads into something "fierce".

Tidbits of kindness that people all took yet did not always reciprocate. So when one of the older servants—one who bought his freedom and lived as a reminder for what could be—came up to her, silently holding up a pair of suspenders, Jane beamed and launched herself to hug the old man. He chuckled, patting her head like she was his own granddaughter, and returned to his post. The suspenders worked much better than the strings along her waist.

Still, the gifts from the house unnerve her and she's visiting the cage again, carrying the meat in her knapsack. Jane made sure he never went hungry. The hounds had tricks besides hunting and tracking and balancing treats on their noses. Finn carried massages and goods from the stables to wherever she was, much like a courier and as he got older he became grouchier but he performed his duties well and Jane knew he wouldn't confront the beast. Finn dropped off the food, just a few steps outside the cage but within the creature's ability to use one paw to drag it back in. The beast stares at her and then, in a great big show of petulance, turns his back on her, showing only his rump.

Jane couldn't help it—she laughed.

He was grumpy and mad at her. He laughter only vexed him further and one of his hind legs pushed her out of the cage. Jane bowled over with laughter now, smothering it with both hands in case someone should hear and wander over. Trouble hates nothing as much as a smile, and this beast was most certainly trouble. Regaining her breath, though peppered with giggles and ear-to-ear smiles, Jane sat up.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd miss me. I missed you, too; I just let myself be distracted with other thoughts. I'm sorry." she spoke softly and speaking to the beast wasn't weird but it had that gawky quality people assume when talking to strangers. Her stiff speech acquired a more natural flow the longer she talk and Jane found she liked talking to him. He listened well, even as he continued to sulk.

"You probably can smell the difference and are undoubtedly grateful for it. My master was pleased with my work—I take care of his dogs, I have since I was taken in—and so I've been receiving trinkets. Little things to him but much valued by people in, in my position. I'm a slave you know." The beast didn't react and Jane appreciated that. "Of course you don't have such a barbaric custom where you're from, I'm sure, but here slavery plunders on. The Master gave me a comb and the seneschal told me to grow out my hair. It, it kind of makes me nervous. Their attention. I'd prefer not to be noticed. To quietly gain my freedom. I fear that may no longer be the case. I'll be going on hunts with him and his," she chewed around for a judicious word, "companions. Nobles. I don't like nobles. They take what they want with no care or concern for how their actions affect others." She had the beast's attention now. "Just look at you. They took you, you who did them no wrong just so that they could feel mighty." Jane coughed out a laugh. "Barbaric."

She looked around the cage. No lock or mechanism that she could see. Nothing that Jane could lift or unlatch to free him. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I don't even know how to free you."

The beast rumbled something, nudging her with his large head. Jane leaned into his bodily heat. He was magnificent. Elk-like antlers, maybe more reindeer-ish, antlers sat atop his cranium as proud as a ram's horns. Four points were broken or snapped off, undoubtedly from the chase. They looked thick and strong, capable of gorging a charging bull or boar. His coat thickened and fluffed up to its winter potential, a beautiful grey-white collage with alternating shades of light and dark and intersected with thin patches of ebony. Under no conditions could Jane hope to lift one of his paws—he was lean, still, too bony she thought, but his form did not beget weakness. Sometimes Jane wondered why he didn't just break the cage. Then her mind's eye flashed the wards. Of course. Magic.

"I feel bad referring you as, well, you. You should have a name. What's your name?" There was a beat of pause and Jane flushed red. "Right, can't talk. I can give you a name.

"Fluffy." One of those same paws poked her in the stomach and Jane wheezed out all her breath at the force. "Sourpuss. I should call you that out of spite." His green eyes were not amused but Jane caught a smirk, she thought it was a smirk, tipping up his muzzle.

"Fine, not Fluffy. I can name you Spot or Reindeer Dog or—" He rumbled a warning and Jane huffed. "Like you have any better ideas." The fur around his collar bristled as if he lacked ideas, good ideas thank you very much. "I'd love to hear these ideas, God of Reindeer Dogs." He let that one slide as he was thinking. He nodded to one of the it torches.

"Kaunaz? You want your name to be Kaunaz?" Jane tested the name on her tongue, raising a skeptical brow at her companion. "You're hardly a light in a dark tunnel, though I guess you're acceptably smart." He snorted at her then, his nose thrust into her belly and squishing her into his side. Jane giggled and scratched the top of his muzzle. He grumbled, pulling away to make it easier on her to breath but butting her when she stopped petting him.

Jane told him about other things—the dogs she raised, what their traits were, whom she favored, the alpha of the pack, what the Master's house was like, what her life was like—but Jane shied from darker, heavier topics. This was the first 'conversation' she's had with him and she didn't want it to be marred by unpleasant things. A yawn tore through her throat, cutting off her explanation of how she got these suspenders. Jane rubbed her eyes. It was time for sleep. She promised to return and told him not to attack any dog courier carrying his food and tapped her foot until he grunted what was grumbling assent. She hugged his chest goodbye and promised once more to come back and see him soon.

He watched her go and when she disappeared behind a building, "Kaunaz" flexed and rolled his spine, closing his eyes for concentration. His reserves were still low. He had to stay longer than he thought. _But_, he inhaled the scent of dogs, flowers, soap and her, _it is not all bad._

She came back on the first day of snow, cheeks red as apples behind her scarf. She wore a vest and two layers of tunics but that wasn't good enough for the cold, he saw her shivering but still she came and smiled at him.

"Hey Kaunaz." A silly name, but he supposed it would have to do for now. "I brought you a real treat." Indeed she had and Kaunaz couldn't believe she managed to carry it. A leg of venison fresh with blood fell before him but Kaunaz did not eat it. He growled at the intruder. The girl turned to look behind her and smacked—smacked!—his muzzle.

"Be nice," she warned. As if she could honestly threaten him. "He helped me carry it. Baldur is strong and I couldn't carry this all by myself." Hearing his name the dog crept closer albeit cautiously. He stared Kaunaz down, analyzing and watchful. If he should harm his pack mate, Baldur would charge.

Kaunaz sat straighter. A mere dog should not dare to challenge him, caged or not. Jane ignored or was ignorant of the tension. From the corner of his eye he saw her leave and give the dog such affection. She never looked at him thus. Kaunaz suddenly felt spiteful of this canine and curled his lips back to reveal many teeth. The cur dared disregard his presence, focusing on the female human. She petted and coddled him, rubbing all his tender spots and murmuring words of love. Kaunaz's spite became physical form in a discontented growl. He did not like sharing his things. Baldur's hackles, in turn, rose and he growled right back. In the back of Kaunaz's mind, he complimented this dog for valor, foolish valor that would get him killed, but not all had the temerity to challenge him. It was another shock then, when the female wound on him with a vehement stare.

"Don't think about it Kaunaz. I will brook no violence on your part."

The beast seethed. Her help made him heal faster and he wished not to linger in this primitive city. He would stay just long enough to turn it to ash for its inhabitants trespasses but not a lingering fortnight. He supposed he could let this girl live. The very least he wouldn't go out of his way to kill her, although casualties and consequences were a part of battle.

She fetched the dog a bone from her same knapsack and the canine was content to let his caretaker be. Kaunaz expected her to leave then. She was full of surprises, this one. Back into the cage she came, cuddling into his side. Part of him wanted to push her away, rebuff her presence for the slight she gave him; instead, he watched her. As usual, she turned her gaze to the sky and in moments was telling him about the celestial mythology her own father told her as a child. She spoke of him with incredible love, as if he never really died, and as long as she kept his memory going a part of him her father continued to live. Kaunaz envied a part of that. The only family he enjoyed was his mother and on occasion his brother. Father, yet not his father, that man he preferred not to dwell on. Even when not singing her timbre was lullaby-like, calm and quiet. Loud enough just to be heard and when it diminished you leaned in, yearning to hear more. Kaunaz realized she had been quiet for some time and opened his eyes to look at her. She did not look at him, keeping her gaze on the stares but he could smell the sadness, the loneliness.

"They died. Sick as I recall. A bad harvest and infestation of rodents that year and of all possibilities, they died yet I lived. Many people perished or grew sick and feeble. Many lost their wealth or means of income. Farmers too weak to plow the fields, laborers who couldn't lift heavy packages. There were many stories like that. So, when my landlord needed extra income, he was sly enough to find it. My parents had no relatives, not within the city at the time, but their house was their own. Bought and paid for. I learned might is not right but those are the rules of this city. The landlord had the might and just enough legal prowess—a bribe—to confiscate the house and all it housed. I became a possession, no more a person. He wanted to keep me but one of the Master's servants was going around buying folk. They needed more workers and workers were cheap those time. Sick, weak workers but so cheap and if you spent a little time feeding them, sometimes they'd get better. Lots of profits to be made in such a market.

"So I was traded. It was winter then." The girl's eyes followed the snow, waiting until the snowflake crashed to earth and then found another in the throes of gravity. Kaunaz supposed that is why he was getting this brief biography. His tail shifted around his leg, draping over her to provide warmth. It'd be inconvenient for her to die now. She petted his tail, breaking her focus on the precipitation for marvel over his handsome figure. Kaunaz preened at the thought. She turned back to the snowflakes after a few moments.

"Chance threw me into the stables instead of with the washing women, learning to weave or cook or other the other domestic tasks then. The hound master at the time was old and he thought me a boy." A rueful smile tugged at her. "I was dirty enough I suppose. Short hair, too." Her fingers made pleasant strokes along his underbelly. "He never learned my name, just called me boy and I was scared of being sent back to the kitchens so I never told him. He died by the time I was ten, perhaps less than, and he taught me the hounds well enough that I managed on my own. They've been my family ever since."

He caught her eye and held it. There was more to that story there. Women do not raise dogs, not here. Here women are domestics, thus, she was an anomaly and anomalies have stories. His blue-green eyes sparkled at the insight. The girl gave a shallow gulp, looking away.

"Some other time, perhaps," she mumbled. He curled tighter around her. He wanted the story now. She made to move but his bulk held her down. She rumbled his "name" in warning and he wanted to laugh now. A wisp of a women, human, trying to intimidate him. Oh, what fun. She proved a slippery little thing, squeezing and squirming out from his back legs and vaulted in between the bars before he could catch her. Well, wasn't she just full of surprises.

Kaunaz showed all his teeth in a grin. Baldur took his post in front of her. She soothed him with an ear rub and soft words. The dog leaned into her touch and obeyed. This girl did have a way with dogs, perchance she told him truths. She left then, Kaunaz watching as she turned the corner. He enjoyed surprises.

* * *

The hoarfrost of winter churned and stiffened to knee-deep snowfall and Kaunaz was left, forgotten, in the town square, pushed off to the side and let be. Everyone was huddled around their fires, keeping warm and eating and drinking and staying indoors. Everyone but her. She—Jane—visited him in the night, telling stories, telling experiences, telling him about her life's ambitions. Freedom. She was close. Closer than before any way. The Master used hunting as a means to entertain his blue-blooded guests and winter did not stop them from chasing stags and rabbits and foxes and any other creature not hibernating until spring. One time she was going to be gone for weeks so she brought him a feast and told him of her departure. There was no acknowledgement at the time but Kaunaz did not enjoy his solitude during that period. Not like his used to.

She had become a bantering acquaintance, teasing him, reading to him from pilfered—"borrowed"—books and even brushing his coat on one occasion. He made her repeat the measure every week since. He loved being groomed and looking neat. Internally, Kaunaz shuddered as to how bad he smelled. Nothing a simple spell couldn't rectify but he was amassing his magic for a grand finale and he would not waste his scheme on pride. Not this time. Besides, his visitor smelled sufficiently pleasurable to make up for the fact he hasn't bathed since before his capture.

That night was a book night, reading to him a tale even he was not familiar with but one he found engaging. War and terror over a throne by two brothers, it was a tale made all the sadder by that love the siblings continued to hold for one another despite despicable acts they committed. Before their eyes lay the destruction they blasted upon the other but close their eyes and each saw and felt better childhood times, wishing so much for peace as they waged war. How poignant a tale. Kaunaz shuddered at the similarities. She closed the book at the last ten pages and recited it from memory. Although the story was not a happy tale, it had a happier ending, if only for the two brothers. Kaunaz was, therefore, immensely pleased when she recited what her people called "the Paradox Poem". It contradicted itself in every line and Kaunaz relished in the ordered chaos of it all.

In winter Jane could not afford to stay long, the nights too cold for her despite her vest and Kaunaz's body heat. "Be a good boy," she often told him at her departure, smiling as he grunted an eye roll. Her scarf dangled unbound from her neck, packing her things when Baldur hugged close to her and growled. Jane looked up to see a man staring. He hustled over to her, his face an image of concern but something in his smile made her gut churn.

"You should not be so close. That's a dangerous beast young lady." That voice sounded familiar. Jane ducked her head in a bow and kept her gaze from him.

"Thank you kind sir, but I'm alright." Jane turned to leave but the man was in front of her. Behind her, Jane heard Kaunaz shift.

"It would be a shame for this barbaric beast to mar that pretty face of yours. It would not do for one of Mister Quinn's servants to be injured. You do wonders with those dogs. I don't think I've ever seen such remarkable hounds." He spoke easily, eloquent and comfortable despite being so near the very beast he warned her was dangerous. "I must say, this seems an odd destination, especially given the hour." His question was light, almost off-hand. Jane ducked her head lower, knowing just how bad a liar she was.

"Sometimes, at odd hours, the dogs get restless. I take them out for a stroll to soothe their nerves, stretch their legs. He was just curious as to the creature's smell." Not entirely a lie. Some nights she did have to walk the dogs at odd hours and, initially, they were curious about the beast's smell. Because that smell was all over her. That curiosity over the months lessened to an extent as she continued to visit Kaunaz.

"Is that so? Well, I would hardly be a gentleman if I didn't escort you the rest of the night through your walk. There are dangers out this time of night." His posture was amicable, open, but Jane shied away.

"I thank you for your offer, but—"

"I insist." He was less than a step from her personal space and she within an arm's length of the man. Jane shivered not from the cold and her voice floundered to find a reason to leave. Alone.

The cage rattle ominously, the man whipping his attention to the beast's foreleg that struck the bars, sendings pallid yellow spikes of magic at the contact. Jane used the distraction to bolt, Baldur at her heels not a heartbeat later. She didn't stop running until she was in the stables, safe behind locked doors and cocooned in her pile of hounds and panting for breath and clarity. Whatever that was, she didn't want to know.

Jane did not visit Kaunaz or send dogs carrying sustenance to him for many nights, risking only brief visits at the break of dawn under the pretense of going into town for supplies. Kaunaz was not happy with her but Jane put him out of her mind, focusing on dogs and freedom. Tunneling her vision helped get her through the days at the cost of blinding her to events around her.

Spring battled with winter for dominance, swelling some days with warmth and losing others to a bitter chill that bit deep into people's bones. It was on one of the warmer days Jane got thrown into the town's fountain and that piece at least could be considered good luck. The master was in a rage, other servants trying to calm him down to no effect. Jane was walking the Master's house dog, an easy light target in reach. He grabbed for her, rattled her worse than a thirsty drunkard pounding on a tavern's door, his words lost as he choked and waved her about, finally pitching her into the fountain. One of the servants cooled down their master when Jane came up sputtering for air. Those who noticed turned to stare. Everything stuck to her figure and wrapping her arms around her self did little to abate the effect. Of all possible people to make eye contact with, Jane found that same guest running covetous eyes over her form, but he was not the only one. Two unnaturally bright blue-green eyes smoldered from the sidelines. A youthful fellow, an older friend of Rook's, took off his jacket for her and Jane sneezed out a thank you.

Jane shook her head to try and clear out some of the water, her voice raspy. "What happened?" The young man sighed, showing his unease and fatigue, but spoke low. "Master's ambitions." He need not say any more, but he did. "Sorry, hound master." Jane stopped squeezing out her hair to face him. He looked guilty for being the bearer of bad news but bore it well for such a young man. "They plan to finish the hunt—hunting the beast—this spring and the nobles 'offered'—sacrificing really—the Master's hunting hounds. I saw what that thing did to the other dogs who came too close. I'm, I'm truly sorry."

She saw what that beast had done too, the dogs shred to ribbons but, he was so calm now, and her dogs gave him food, cautiously of course, but, but to sacrifice her family for pride? Jane locked her knees to remain standing.

"Why was the master angry?" He didn't prize these hounds, not like she and he could always buy more, have her train more, rebuild his stock. Why the anger?

The youth chewed his lip, swallowed his unease and did not prolong her suffering. "Because they, the nobles, are taking his dogs for the hunt. And you, the hound master. To be returned afterwards, of course. But he is not to accompany them in their pursuit of the beast." Jane could no longer stand, or hear, or breath, or think.

People in power, how they abused her. A shudder worked through her body at the image of that guest, the man whose name she didn't know but whose face was clear as day. He was a noble. He would be there. And so would she. Alone. The Master was cruel and possessive but he did not cross that one line every slave feared. On some level, he had principles to which he adhered. More than likely, that guest had no such qualms.

"The master said no?" The hope in her voice made her want to cringe and the older boy winced.

"If it matters, he argued." He was not being unkind with his words. Nobles, men in power, they took what they wanted, and the Master's possessiveness over his property—for that is what she was—offered a cold solace. Jane nodded her understanding and the boy helped her to her feet, him being not much younger than her though significantly taller and stronger. The walk back to the house was silent and lonely in spite of the person at her side. She had to do something, was a vague notion in her mind swamped by dread.

Spring.

Jane gained a sudden hatred of the day's warm weather. She wanted eternal cold and snow, a perpetual blizzard, a miracle to keep her family alive. Because that is what it would take, a miracle or a tragedy. The beast's premature death, perhaps?

_But, he didn't do anything wrong. He's just trying to live._ Part of her heart didn't care, not enough to sacrifice her hounds. For the first time in a long time, Jane cried herself to sleep. _Oh, please, let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up._

It was a nightmare, one she lived.

Down in the town square, Kaunaz saw Jane emerge from that fountain, instincts swirling to the surface. His magic hummed to life, strong, bright and green. The magical guards along the cage crackled in respond and Kaunaz burned away the cheap magic.

Spring gave him vitality. Energy. Power. He could tear apart this pathetic metal box like a child crushing flimsy cardboard. But not yet. He wanted to await night, when his visitor was due. One passerby came close and spat in his direction.

Hatred, hot and violent, snaked into his visage. The man, middle-aged, clumsy, and dressed in such a fashion that impressed none but his other, simple-minded mortals, flinched from what he saw and scurried away. For so long he played the good captive; it was time these mortals saw the monster beneath the mask and learned, once more, to fear and respect his kind. The beast buried head into his front paws in case a by stander perceive the change. No one else noticed and "Kaunaz" smirked. After tonight, this city would burn.

Jane did not show that night. Or the next, or the day after that. Not for many nights. Kaunaz snarled, his magic boiling as furious as he was over her disloyalty. _That stupid little slave girl had audacity to forgo him? And for what? Did that man claim her?_ The beast gnashed his teeth at the thought. If she wouldn't see him, then fine. He'd set the city ablaze and her along with it. It was not quite night, the sun rimming the horizon a bloody orange red and people still crowded the outside.

_Perfect_.

The beast flexed his shoulders once, twice and the bars groaned under the magical strain, snapping with precise metal flicks, and then just for flair, he shattered the rest of the cage in an explosive show of magic. People were already screaming and running. Kaunaz breathed deep, drinking in the chaos and his magic spiked again in response, wanting very much to frolic and play and wreck havoc. Soldiers with lances and spears ran to the center, looking for the cause and paling when they saw him, free and strong and untold preternatural ability gushing from his every pore. He enjoyed their screams, their pains, their deaths. _Just like old times._

The green fire surged outward, seeking anything resembling fuel and the screams grew. The beast grew bored with only his canine form and green magic washed over him, flowing away to reveal a man. He wandered, killing as his pleasure against those faces he remembered and he never forgot a face. He found the man who spat at him and particularly enjoyed his torment. His pace was lazy, unhurried, avoiding the slums for the smell and filth, instead going to the wealthy district with large house and scents of opulence and power and money. People were bottle necking the city gates and he did not stop them. Let them run and spread their fear.

The fourth house he found him. A noble, young by his standards, not so young by theirs, and the man's eyes narrowed when recognition hit. The fool thought him a vagabond and took up arms against him. Thin, skeletal fingers flattened his esophagus, leaving just enough air to wheeze in and out for a slow death. The man twisted and grappled, fighting death to ill effect. The man smiled, watching him squirm so. The roar of the fire consuming the city was distant but his pumping blood, the thrill of this, echoed in his ears. It had been too long.

"God and ghouls, what are you?"

The man sneered at the man asphyxiating before him. " Still capable of speech, hmm? Some would call that impressive. Not I. I am far, far above you mortal, and you should know better than to touch what is mine." The man sagged against his fingers, limp and moments later growing cold. He tossed him aside. He forgot about her initially. Perhaps she was still alive. If she was… He grinned. How did they like being hunted?

He remembered her smell well though the smoke and carnage blurred most things together. He sighed, an impatient flick of his wrist weaving together a rudimentary tracking spell. Man form or not, he quickly covered the distance to find her in the stables.

Jane tucked a few more things into her knapsack, barking orders to the pack to gather the puppies. Arco was on her third trip running puppies too young to survive on their own past the city gates where other pack members lay in wait. She tied another sack onto one of the omegas, whatever foodstuff she could manage, and sent him running with two body guards. Most likely people would not bother dogs, carrying things or not. People just wanted to escape and that is exactly what she and her family were doing. Kazi and some of his strongest circled the pack, attacking strangers and growling away potential thieves. Jane slipped a short knife into a side pocket and flint into her pack. She tightened the laces on her boots. Good to go.

There was a prickling sensation tickling her neck and she had no time to contemplate why or what when Kazi and his beta looped closer to her, snarling at the intruder, the other dogs falling in line as their commander dictated.

A man. Tall, very tall, but then she was so short. Dressed in leather and armor, mostly black with splashes of green and gold. His gait suggested an imperial upbringing but there was a predatory shadow to everything he did, including his smile. Jane stopped breathing when she found his eyes. Stormy blue green and wickedly delighted. How she knew the latter, Jane did not know and didn't want to know how she knew. She stamped down the apprehension leaking into every limb.

"Take what you want. We're leaving."

"You found your freedom, you suppose." Eloquent, rich as molten chocolate and authoritative—he sounded casual; he sounded dangerous. Jane swallowed.

"I, I will offer you no trouble. They won't attack unless I say so, so back off and we'll leave in peace." Green flames blundered up the hill, licking at the sides of buildings, finding them to its liking as it consumed and consumed and consumed as it worked its way up the hill. The rising heat made her sweat while the rising smoke stung her lungs. Jane coughed.

"Look it's dangerous to stay."

"Danger did not stop you before."

Jane squinted at the man, the smoke now getting into her eyes as the fire got closer. "I don't know—"

"You did call me by a different name and I wore a different body then, but I assure you I am one and the same." He ignored the snarling canines, as is five large threatening dogs could do him no harm. Jane hoped he was merely foolish and not confident within reason. She backpedaled slowly to the rear entrance, the dogs reading her motions and stepping in time with her but always guarding. Baldur advanced when the man got to close, running up and snapping at his calves. His opponent was quick as a whistle, leaping precisely and kicking the dog back. Baldur whined, hobbling and leaning into his ribs.

"No!" Jane shouted but the damage was done. Her pack, her family, charged to defend their fallen comrade. His face showed monstrous delight in hurting her dogs. Jane made to run past him, aiming for Kazi but his fingers latched onto her bicep and no amount of struggling loosened his grip.

"Let go!"

He laughed at her attempts. "You'll find it's not so easy to escape me in this form. Though I am still impressed how well your body can turn in tight spaces." He hinted at an answer Jane was terrified to verify. One of her hands slapped his open check. The impact stung her palm but Jane scowled at him.

"I told you not to hurt them. Go away!"

He flexed his jaw. "Still full of surprises. Oh, I like you. I'll like you very much, I think. But I'd prefer you to call me my real name and not 'torch'." He smiled at her, all teeth, all unnaturally sharp. "Loki. Call me Loki."

Fear curdled inside her stomach and Jane felt sick. "What?"

The man sighed, releasing her arm and made his way to the horse's stalls. He reached for an apple, relishing its crisp taste. Jane ran immediately for Kazi, the dog struggling to stand and defend its caretaker, its true master. "I know you're smarter than this. Surely you've put the pieces together." Jane hugged her dog close.

"You're Kaunaz? You, You're the beast? But, why…?" Jane shook her head negatively. "Fine, you have your freedom. Take it and go. Leave us alone."

Loki swallowed the last bite, tossing the core over his shoulder. "Jane. Jane, Jane, Jane. Your people did a disservice—a cruelty—to me. Don't you think I deserve recompense?"

"You're burning the city to the ground! Probably killed half a dozen, may be more, people in the process. Revenge was yours." Jane now stood in front of her dogs, trying in vain to protect them from this beast-turned man. Loyal to their bones, the dogs croaked out growls and barks and vain threats with each step he took. Jane grew panicked the closer she got, claustrophobic distress darkening the edges of her vision.

"Wait, wait, wait! If this is all you wanted, then, then why tolerate me at all? Why bother?" Wounded as they were, Jane herded them to the back exit, slipping them out as she distracted this predator. Only the alpha remained and he would not, would never leave her. Loki bore a cruel smirk that edged into a shark's grin. He acted flippantly, as if the smoke were not rising and the fire not burning. Jane fought for clarity in a haze.

"Truly, I cared not for you. Not in the beginning but healing takes time and I needed time. You accelerated that process with your kindness. I must thank you for that. If not for you, I could not have accomplished this." He swept his arms wide. He liked to gloat, monologue. Good. That gave Jane time to stall, to get away. She shifted closer to the door. "At least, not this soon. After that, I suppose you became a curiosity." _With a lovely, berceuse for a voice. A voice that should sing to me every night._ Yes, Loki liked that idea. He moved quick enough to grab her, eliciting a startled yelp from her, eyes wide and wary. Her fear smelled divine. The dog made to move but even through her fear Jane cared for her dogs and commanded his restraint. Loki pulled her close, almost touching, almost hugging her. "After that, you became mine. I find that fair recompense for your people's trespasses, don't you?"

Jane dug deep for courage, more like foolishness, and hissed at this man-beast creature. "I did not trade one collar for another."

"Oh, Jane. What makes you think you have a choice?" He forgot she was naturally left-handed. It found the knife from her sack and the blade whistled by his throat, leaving a bloody mess. Loki roared his displeasure. Canine and human bolted, neither wishing to stay and see what new ways his ire expressed itself when pushed. Loki pressed a hand to the would, feeling the blood pump out with each heartbeat.

That mere mortal kept getting the drop on him and his insides oscillated between attraction and rage. The latter colored his timbre when he bellowed out the human's name, a howl that clamored with his magic sending the green flames hotter and higher. Loki bared his teeth, feeling them elongate and the cramping spasm as his bones shifted. Prior to the change his hand sizzled with magic, healing the cut but leaving his hand sticky with blood. His face shifted and grew out at his mouth and nose, a half muzzle speckled with fur. All his dark hair shuddered into white and grey where only thin wisps of black remained and his eyes blazed with magic and fury. Jane's name snarled into a howl, a call for the hunt and down in the city, Jane begged her feet to go faster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mexican soda. Collossal amounts of Mexican soda and candy and on again-off-again sleep, none of which were a good thing as I feel kinda sick. I meant to write the next chapter of WMHB. Psshshssh. That didn't go as planned. Probably 'cause I'm drunk from Mexican soda. Good stuff. Don't worry; I'm of age and I'm pretty sure my liver can take it. Where was I? Sotry? Sotry. Wait, spelled wrong-Story. That's better. To all those who say you can't write while intoxicated I say "HA!" and that I want to lie down now. And pillows. **

**Any lyrics and lullabies are not mine.**

**Wait, I think I'm getting soberer (yet I still feel sick; this sucks). I had a thought. it was a good thought...Yes! Look below.**

**I encourage you to look up "hungry puppy". It means not what you think. (But I love that it's double entendre effect here.) Unless you already know of what synonym it refers to and in which case I applaud your intellect.**

**Mexican soda: Drink responsibly. Now back to hibernation, and hopefully better health. I'll fix this chapter later. Sober, non-mexican soda time. Oh, I need to lay down. And then write more WMHB. Working on it.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_A Kindness: Chapter 2_

Plenty of people raged against the fire and chaos with reason, even cool-headed clarity through random fits of panic and despair. Disciplined soldiers engaged thieves and vagabonds with ruthless efficiency, some charging the beast when glimpses of his shadowy self walked past. This was their home and they would defend it. Citizens rushed with water and sand, trying in vain to douse the flames, save their homes, their lives, all their efforts. Some acted thus, but others—most—found the call of chaos a siren they could not deny. Maleficence beckoned them and they, dutiful acolytes, performed in her honor.

Jane focused not on them, not on any of them. Not on the few faces she recognized—Kairo, Rook, the seneschal—and many pairs of eyes clouded with death. Those that blinked scurried about fearfully, tearfully, shoving for safety and life same as her. She had been kind, she was kind, "weak", and it taught her freedom blessed only the strong. It's what she chanted as a prayer against the horrors before her but each repeated phrase fostered a sour taste on her tongue, doubling on top of one another until her stomach roiled, nauseated. How, Jane didn't know, but she heard a blubbery cry over the din and her eyes caught sight of a rapidly rising and falling chest, struggling to survive.

Kazi barked at her: _Staying was dangerous._ Sorrow and shame ripped through her. Her mother would have countless aphorisms for her next course of action; Jane only had one: Old habits die hard. And apparently they would be the death of her.

_Dammit_, she swore. Jane urged the alpha on, running to the body. Small, fragile, and scared. His attire, his shoes or lack thereof, his birth—-he boy should not be condemned to die, alone and afraid, when an act of kindness on her part could spare him regardless his station. Jane lacked the strength to life all the rubble off him, doing what she could. Kazi paced around, ears attentive and fur bristling defensively. He did not leave pack.

The boy's eyes were wild and he flinched from her. "It's okay. It's okay, little one. I'm not going to hurt you." Despite the cacophony bouncing around them, Jane spoke in mellow tones, offering him a lopsided half-smile and gentle fingers combed back his bangs. Tears ran down his face as this stranger gave him solace. He didn't even know her yet she came for him. The woman made to leave and he scrambled to snag her sleeve.

"Please," he croaked, "please don't leave me."

"Shh, shh. It's alright. I'm not going to leave you, but I have to find something to get this marble slab off you. I can't lift it on my own. I'll be within shouting distance. This is Kazi. He will protect you." Kazi was not happy about being further than three feet from her but she was the leader. He may be the alpha but she was the heart of the pack and a direct command from her he could not disobey.

Brick, marble and charred wood littered the streets as buildings turned to ruin. A ghoulish howl rang in the distance, Jane's skin going white with fright. She knew who that howl belonged to and whatever was keeping him busy couldn't distract him indefinitely. She worked faster, desperate to find a beam or shovel for leverage and then run. Her body begged her to run, to flee, to live. Her throat was too dry for swallowing and the longer Jane focused on the physical manifestations of fear the sooner she'd drown in the sensation. Best not to think at all. Focus on the task. Focus on helping the boy.

The wood was not especially sturdy so they'd have to pray it lasted long enough for him to escape from under the stone slab. Digging it under the rubble, Jane counted aloud, both struggling to dislodge the boy's led. When Kazi gripped the child's collar with his teeth, tugging in time with the boy, he wiggled free just as the piece of timber snapped. Jane wiped at the sweat on her forehead, smiling triumphantly. Talk about luck.

The roar was closer now. Much closer.

The boy tripped and stumbled to her side, big watery eyes showing the whites of his eyes as he thought of just what sort of creature made such sounds.

She had such crap luck.

"Time to go," she said. Neither Kazi or the boy needed more prompting, although the latter balked when he saw their escape route.

"You want to go through there?" His verbalizations knocked into squeaky, scandalized octaves. Jane wasted no time hoisting him up by the collar with strength fueled by adrenaline and a rush of endorphins too potent for a body in stasis.

"Hold you breath," she told him and then threw him into the sewers without as much a by-your-leave, Kazi jumping in after him. The ground shook, throwing her off balance and to her knees as though a huge weight crashed from above. Jane risked a glance.

He did not look happy, a few nicks from spears and arrow shafts protruded from his hide but brute strength bunched his muscles into a coil ready to spring at a moment's command. His growl warned her not to. Jane had just enough time as she jumped down the chute to fist her fingers into an unkind gesture at the beast. Loki's roar of discontented rancor echoed down the shaft after her, ringing with promise.

The sewers were bloated from the destruction of an aqueduct above funneling water below at torrential rates. At the cost of burning lungs, Jane closed her mouth before she hit the water. The current's cataract thrashed her up and under, side to side in somersaults and her body thrown in contortions until it spat her into a river at an unknown juncture. She coughed and spat out water, weak limbs slapping at the surface but succeeded not in reaching the shore. Jane continued to drift, bobbing below the water until panic and survival instincts compelled her body into motion. A collapsed, rotten tree betided to be her salvation, its branches and trunk jutted out half-submerged across the water way. After a kick and two, Jane hauled herself up, shivering and soaked.

Bones gone to jelly and muscles now molasses it was a battle making it to shore but Jane was nothing if not a fighter. The tide lapped at her feet though Jane did not worry about high-tide, not from a river; besides, she had not the stamina to crawl further up. Everything was hazy and water-logged and she was tired, so very tired. Each blink her eyes stayed shut a few milliseconds longer until they didn't reopen, her breathing rhythmic as one in sleep.

Of all the woodland creatures to waker her it was a doe chewing on a lock of her hair. Jane blinked once, twice, trying to sort her thoughts and yesterday's memories but got only dots of images, sounds, and feelings—everything still _hurt_ by the way—that required her to outline conclusive lines.

The beast. Kaunaz

Kaunaz who was not a beast, and not her friend.

Kazi and the pack. Running. Fleeing.

Freedom.

Almost.

The beast—he called himself a name, a name not Kaunaz—tried to take her freedom from her. Pique stirred in her breast—how dare he try to take her something so precious from her?—but the fatigue quashed that fire in advance of it building into anything beyond an irritated thought. Jane exhaled and laid back down, the doe's ear flickering in her direction but no more. At least it wasn't eating her hair anymore. Jane rubbed her eyes, pushing out the remnants of sleep and bringing back the memories in a rush.

The beast-turned-man claiming her. The knife.

Helping the boy.

Getting separated from her family.

The last thought made her eyes sting with tears not from sleep.

"Kazi! Gunner? Arco! Baldur? Mosey-Rosey?" she shouted, wincing at her hoarse voice but forcing the yells and whistles out and loud as she could. A timid sip of the river water told her it was sweet and fresh, which boded equally well and ill. The water did her throat good and she drank past the protestations of a swelled stomach yet shy of retching. However, this meant she traveled into a more remote part of the land than she planned. Who knows where her pack was?

Jane sighed and racked a hand through sand-speckled hair. It brought back recollections of how she got here and Jane made a face. _Gross. _She'd wash up. Wash up and face all the obstacles that dare impede her life's goals. Crying would get her nowhere. Save the tears for when she met her family, saw the little ones hale and whole, and for when Kazi kissed her face until it dripped drool. Now demanded a stout heart, action, assessment. Jane would go from there.

She still had her knapsack, and Jane dumped out the contents for inventory. Anything not in a jar or sealed container was spoiled—strips of jerky and dried herbs—but other things she could wash and clean fro reuse. Her comb, bottles of soap and shampoo she pilfered and had planned to sell, some coins and clothing, the knife, flint, a short measure of rope, along with a couple of baubles. Jane went to work, washing herself and the pack's contents. For the last time, she smelled flowery albeit with an undertone of vanilla. It was best not to get too attached to smelling thus. She wasn't going to take scented baths again. Having clean hair after swimming where she's been was a sweet bit of serendipity.

The water and washing revived her and Jane called for her family again. No response. The deer departed during her bath, leaving her unquestionably alone. Jane shifted from foot to foot, biting her lip. This was not part of her plans. She cursed the beast for his interference. What's worse, she did not know these woods. Or maybe it wasn't so bad. The river flowed north, bringing her close to the mountains and thereby her destination, the northern woods. It also meant she was far from the city—a place she planned to never return to—but the river masked her scent, making it difficult for Dreyfuss to track. Jane re-shouldered her pack; if they didn't find her, then she'd find them.

Raising hunting dogs meant learning about the outdoors, the woods, how to navigate them, and Jane figured out the cardinal directions, heading northeast and thereby away from that wretched city. It would be a long circuitous route but Jane wished not to risk meeting soldiers or refugees or…it from the city. A shiver racked her frame despite the dry clothing and springtime weather; Jane denied the possibility. The beast had its freedom and she had hers. Their ties ended in that city. It only wanted her as a petty form of revenge against those who slighted it and would waste no time looking for her.

_Focus on your family Jane_, she told herself and steadied her steps. _Focus. One step at a time._ Exhaustion would leave her defenseless—a potentially deleterious situation to be in given her status as a single traveler—so she never walked too late in the day, internally measuring the lactic acidic throbbing in her legs as a standard of time. Her meals she consumed on the go, foraging edible plants as they passed her route and sucked on honeysuckle and pebbles to keep her mouth moist as water was precious. An unguarded nest of duck eggs was a lucky feast and the risk of a fire well worth the risk. Jane savored the protein with rhapsodic joy. Time reduced to the present and immediate future, hanging on the hope of meeting her family if not today then tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow.

Jane had few things she called unequivocally hers. Technically it belonged to the previous hound master though he willed it to her on his death bed and since then it's been her treasure, her lucky charm. She scoured her pack, it was such a tiny thing, and blew into the metallic trinket after a triumphant "Ah-ha!" parted her lips. The whistle looked nothing special. Thin and slender as a quill and not nearly as beautiful, the whistle's functionality was a marvel for dog trainers. Twisting the lower half of the device changed the pitch and it varied from vibrations audible to the human ear to an ear-splitting headache for animal kin. Jane deigned not to use that frequency in her training, not even as a one time cautionary tale. Causing another person or creature pain was not in her heart. Twittering birds and curious squirrels responded to her calls but no familiar howls. Jane sighed.

Tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow.

Jane walked on, heading further north. By the end of the day a landscape of mountains loomed in the distance, murky and opaque from all the surrounding fog and clouds. She turned in for another night of lonely sleep. A hollow ache echoing her heartbeat haunted Jane until sleep claimed her.

In the distance, a canine muzzle shuffled along the forested floor, inhaling ponderously the familiar scent. Flowery with a hint of vanilla but her true scent was as soothing as memory recalled.

Her bladder woke Jane up earlier than usual and post morning duties, Jane munched on a day-old mint sprig to purge the taste of morning breath. Packed and ready to depart, Jane blew on the whistle again, followed by names of her dogs. She waited, ears alert.

Silence.

And then a howl, baritone and sonorous flooded through the trees, answering her call. Jane went very, very still.

_It was not him. It could not be him. Not him, not him, not him. _It was a futile prayer. Shakily, Jane backpedaled, wild feverish eyes darting, hoping against hope not to see his silhouette emerge from the trees. Another howl and she bolted. While Jane came up short in burliness, she was nimble and quick enough to dodge roots and branches that sought to slow her down. However, the fact remained—she could not outrun any animal for long lengths of time. Then again, who said she had to?

Reaching into her pack Jane withdrew one of the last bottles of shampoo, pouring water from her flask into the half-used bottle and shook it vigorously. She tossed the diluted contents over the closest tree, even up into the branches and then threw the bottle in the opposite direction she ran. It would buy her time. Just enough time to reach a river or one of the big lakes and so long as she reached the water—

Lightning fast, a hand snaked out to seize her, jerking Jane off her feet in the process. With the aid of her momentum Jane crashed into a chest, knocking the wind out of her. Her shriek died in her throat, a garbled swallow, at the feral snarl warping back his features. She trembled in his grasp, fighting for space and air. His fingers gripped harder, causing her to wince at what would be bruises.

"I am not a low brow cur so easily fooled by myopic trickery." The bass tones of his voice were almost at odds with his slender frame. He was tall yet skinny, an all-consuming presence yet paleness disguised by shadows—an entity of opposites. Jane processed little of this outside her hammering heart threatening to gallop out of her ribcage at racetrack speed. Her legs's kicked uselessly in the air, a part of her mind not computing the futility of the act as it focused too much on the thought of escape.

"What are you—? Why, why are you here?" she panted. His grip did not relent. Though he frowned at her, his eyes held amusement. "How quick we forget," he chided, the condescending tone one uses with an errant child.

Some of her fire came bak to life at his mocking timbre. "Let go."

He raised a sophisticated eyebrow. "Surely you know basic manners, my bird." Jane's face frosted into a glare.

"Let. Go. You churlish, hungry puppy." What a delightful spark this human had. Loki was most certainly amused now. "Look," she reasoned. "You have no need of me. I serve no purpose. You had you bloody revenge. You probably despise my kind and should want nothing to do with us any more. Let me go." When his tenure did not loosen, her words lost their calm effect and escalated into incensed. "I showed you a kindness! That should mean something!"

Loki clicked his tongue in a tsk, setting her down yet retaining one hand looped around her arm to keep her in place. "Yes, you did shower me with favors. Such a pretty voice." His last sentence was muted as if speaking more to himself than her. His free hand brushed reverently across her throat and Jane swallowed. Loki's grin was wide and hinted at teeth, teeth too sharp for a human, and bells rung in warning. This was no man standing before her. Jane wondered. A kindness that doesn't reach the recipient's heart—is that really a kindness? Or is it a selfish desire to do good, an arrogant assumption that your own intentions can warm others regardless of their thoughts and intentions? Maybe some people don't want kindness or symphony; maybe they only desire never endear.

"You were closer to the truth than you knew yet so fervently denied. Might," he told her, "is the only right."

Jane's legs trembled and in a flash of wicked ocular delight, Loki let go and she stumbled to the forest floor, her limbs quaking too much to support her. He loomed over her, predatorily tall as she now crab walked a few paces away. Jane latched onto her anger as a last defense against the dread knotting her organs.

"Stop it. I will not be another's property. You should know what that's like. The humiliation. You of all beings should understand the value of freedom and the pains of having it taken from you." His face tilted in a neutral, thoughtful quality.

"My bird, what makes you think they had any power over me to begin with? It was a good show I admit and it gave me the added benefit of crossing paths with you but had I not wished it, you and your petty mortals would never be able to cage me so."

"Liar." Loki glared at her insolent tongue after he hid his shock.

"You wanted to be gone the instant they found you in the hills. But you were weak. And in that moment of weakness they overpowered you and you suffered until you were strong enough to break free." Stony silence and a gelid face bore down upon her.

"Clever little bird," he muttered. "Perhaps," he offered and Jane perked up, hopeful, "I'll just have to keep you, after all." His feral smile crushed that hope. One of his hands extended to grab her and Jane's heart hardened just enough. Before he could close the distance, Jane locked the whistle in place, blowing long and hard, past the point where her own lungs concaved and burned from lack of oxygen.

The shapeshifter writhed on the ground, his face contorted in agony as he held his ears. That high, whining frequency gave him double vision, melting every image into a kaleidoscope of colors. He retched and once his stomach emptied its contents he dry-heaved. Mucus and bile slathered his esophagus and up his tongue imparting each take of breath a bilious taste. The sensation was oil to his wrath.

That girl. Instead of song her screams would lure him to sleep. Skills grow rusty without practice and torturing those in the city had been too short an affair. Drawn out torment was a different type of art.

Loki's gait was discombobulated, as the aftereffects of the whistle upset his equilibrium. Trees suddenly swam into focus, Loki alternatively knocking into them or using them for support. Jane flickered at the edges of his vision. A wisp of brown hair. The jingling of her pack. Her heavy breathing and that divine scent of terror. So focused on her and her capture that Loki was caught unaware when multiple canines rammed into him, sinking in fangs or claws to draw blood. He bared his own teeth in reply, managing to catch one by the scruff of its neck and throw it off his shoulder. The others were quicker. His target was in the distance guarded by a circumference of growling, prickly furred dogs. A selection of point guards baited and snapped at him, trying to draw him away or the very least distract him while the human escaped. Loki's throat worked into a vicious bark of his own, and they were smart not to attack unless as a group. For dogs, they were clever, almost unnaturally so, but Loki paid it little mind, the thought more irritating than intriguing then.

She was getting away.

In a series of acrobatic moves Loki vaulted over the dogs, legs eating up the distance faster than the human could create it. His magic materialized into a whip and with a savage rotation of his shoulder caught Jane's ankle thereby denying her escape. Another pull of his rotator cuff threw her up, shrieking and crawling for purchase of leverage, and then sprawled in front on him. Loki's foot on her sternum pinned her while the whip changed sword at her throat stilled her movements. From his peripherals he caught sight of the alpha—the dog's hate palpable—and smirked.

"Call off your dogs if you want her to live." The tip of the sword carved a scant line of red down her throat for emphasis. Kazi snarled at the man. Time stopped as the two alphas stared each other down, Kazi holding Loki's gaze and the shapeshifter's goblin grin grew. The audacity of these hounds matched those of their master. And what loyalty. Loki dug his weapon a little deeper, earning a cry from Jane and at that, the alpha relented. The dogs withdrew their attack, though they ringed him in a defensive semicircle, and the rest behind their leader. Every pair of eyes blazed with bloodlust and contempt for him compared to the love for the mortal squirming beneath him.

Loki perused the pack members. None looked for want of food or shelter, the same which could not be said for other refugees of that city. These were fighters. These were survivors. He liked that in a creature. Loki held back a grin. Changing his vocal chords into the All-Tongue of his beast form, he spoke.

"I've dominated your alpha. Submit."

None of the hounds assumed a submissive pose. More than a few defiantly haughtily sniffed at him and one had the gall to laugh hyena-like. A short-haired collie mix stepped forth. The alpha. "You keep our Heart of the Pack. Return her." These dogs—were they really? Loki had his theories—played by a different set of rules. He was game.

"Name?" he inquired. When no one replied dug his boot further into his captive's chest, sending her into a coughing fit. Some tensed, snarling, but did not move. One lunged at him but the alpha brooked no insubordination and put the old dog in his place. The elder canine curled his lip at the leader albeit complied.

"Alpha," answered the hound. He was not the heaviest, nor the wisest or the swiftest, Loki could tell, but alpha's seldom were.

"A trade then, Alpha. One Heart of the Pack for another." The dog sneered at him. "Tis a fair trade. This mortal lives—in my care, under my rule, by my authority in whatever fashion I desire—if you swear fealty to me." Kazi analyzed the opponent before him but waited not a beat to answer with cultured resonance. He sounded almost wolfish, almost wise.

"There is only one Heart of the Pack. Only one." Therefore, there would be no other loyalty given. Loki disguised his face in counterfeit concern.

"You'd kill her out of misplaced loyalty?"

"Kill her," the collie mix's words swung with the danger of an oath, "and we will find adequate indemnification for your trespasses."

So they knew their limits then. They had no hope to kill him—wound perhaps, if not fatally—but this leader was keen. Loki made a show of mulling over the hound's argument. He just needed the dog to bend in the right direction.

Cantankerous old Finn's blood boiled at the sight of his master so. She had whelped him, raised him, sung him lullabies during thunderstorms as a puppy, loved him—an omega even as the years augmented yet his rank did not—and he reciprocated her affections as no other in the pack. Finn held no lost love for Kazi the leader though hierarchy dictated obedience.

That not-man thing, smirking, smiling, taunting, inflicted more pains on his caretaker. But she was strong. Heart of the Pack grit her teeth and silently bore his sadisms. Finn was on the brink of wanting her to cry out, beg for help from the pack. Kazi wouldn't ignore that. He did, however, ignore this, so focused on the not-man thing that the Heart of the Pack's sufferings he set aside. A whimper finally escaped her and Finn tolerated no more. He charged in big, lopping strides, snapping at the foot's tendons holding down his pack mate. Not-man thing gracefully pivoted away from his jaws but not far enough so she could flee. The sword magicked back into a whip, clutching one of her wrists and hauling her back.

This not-man thing was an experienced fighter. Using his peripheral vision to snag Jane each time she attempted to flee then centered his body between the two to keep them apart. As with every fighter, he had his flaws. Arrogance. Being too showy with one of his moves, Finn used the time lapse to bite the whip loosening it's hold long enough for Jane to wiggle free.

He did it!

And for it, the not-man thing stuck a dagger betwixt two of his lower ribs.

Jane screamed and ran back for her dog, not computing that it made his sacrifice vain. Her hands tried to stem the flow but there was so much blood and it came out so fast, dyeing her fingers, palms, and forearms a solemn red. Tears made it difficult to see although what she did see made her insides clench.

Finn was dying.

"No, no, nononono. You stay with me Finn. Please stay with me. You have so many years in you. Please Finn. Please don't go just yet," Jane blubbered. The dog's eyes swam out of focus, breathing slowly for one on the edge of death.

_ Heart of the Pack?_

Finn sniffed and relaxed into her hold. Flowery with a hint of vanilla but more importantly mud and meadows and pack; she smelled just like he remembered as a puppy. He whined against her, which produced another heaving round of sobs. He tried to move and dog paddled no where. Jane picked up his head and cradled it like old times. His limbs felt heavy.

Loki cleaned his dagger disinterestedly while the pack was mournfully silent. His eyes took in the human's reaction—_how sentimental_—and internally derided Jane for her emotions. She made his death worthless by coming back; although it was worthless to begin with as he would have caught her anyway, this just made it quicker for him. Loki's ear tweaked in the direction of dark clouds that gathered near the mountains. He better go before company he did not wish to see at the moment found him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Finn sunk his head into the crook of Jane's arm. Still didn't like storms. Jane smiled in spite of herself, continuing to pet and soothe him. It was the least she could do. Humming to give herself a beat and time to clear her throat—not an easy feat as she was like to burst into wails and mucus-racked choking fits—Jane found the lyrics she wanted, though changed to suit her purposes here.

Shapeshifter Loki stilled. She was singing; it was a lullaby about thunderstorms and the comfort of another person offered during the night. A flash of an older woman, matronly, with wrinkles that formed with her smile and tender kisses she liked to place upon his brow swept through him and Loki felt vulnerable, exposed as if they could see his heart. Yet he lingered, eager to listen.

After a handful of stanzas, Jane drew the song to a close.

"But it's dark and it's late

So I'll hold you and wait

'Till your frightened eyes do close

And I hope that you know

How I love you so…

Everything will be fine in the morning

The rain will be gone in the morning

But I'll still be here, in the morning."

Finn was limp and inanimate; nevertheless, Jane's fingers brushed his fur from head to tail in loving, careful strokes. Loki took a step.

"Don't touch me, you fucking monster."

Whomever favored the belief that hate is inherently hot in nature never crossed this woman for her words cut as the tundra in wintertide. Loki belittled her with a smirk.

"The passerine thinks it a gyrfalcon? How droll. But twas not I who forsook his immolation. Rather cruel of you."

Jane hunched protectively over the deceased, baring her dull human teeth at him in poor imitation of ferocity. "Do not touch me," she repeated. Loki sheathed his dagger, sighing. He just got back his bearings—his reason for hunting this girl in the first place and no, it was not for torture; that ephemeral want has passed—yet she constantly tries his patience. His tongue clicked rudely to the roof of his mouth.

"Come now. Let's not do this dance yet again." Not when the thunder resounded closer than before. "I offer you a better life, better than one sleeping on the forest floor, and still you slap at my generously extended hand. I find it quite irritating."

"You offer me a cage," she spat.

"Technically a castle," he quipped.

"A pretty cage then with corsets. I'll take the forest floor."

Loki released a chuckle. "Lucky for you such has been out of fashion in my lands for generations. Good riddance, too. They were an annoyance to unlace."

"Loki…" Growling his name came from a a foggy memory of smoke and fire and fear and Jane wasn't aware she even said it until it passed her lips. Intense cyan eyes swung round to center on her being. That was the first time she said his name. It rattled over her tongue like clumsily wielded magic, harming its wielder more than the opponent. Some of her solid ire faltered under his look. That look stunned her immobile for a breath as Loki went to close the gap. Her fight-or-flight instincts exploded to life and Jane darted for the rest of her family but made it not, he too agile and she too slow.

Loki had a less unchallenging time holding a sackful of irascible serpents than this one female. She squirmed, she kicked, she screamed—she even went to chomp off his nose when he turned her to face him! Talk about spitfire personality. Honestly, he hasn't been this entertained in ages. Alas, he didn't have the time. Not now. His right hand glowed to life and though Jane flinched away from it, he place his thumb and forefinger to her brow and temple. She shuddered and then sagged boneless against his, out cold. The pack was in disarray, barking, whining, howling, and kept from attacking through brutish submission by the alpha and his stalwart betas and lackeys. Loki caught the alpha's eye.

"Find the Asgard Mountains and we'll talk." Summoning up the last of his core reserves of magic, Loki shrouded himself and Jane in opaque, iridescent light to teleport them with a cracking snap aftereffect. Loki breathed deep of the thin mountain air made sweet by mineral rich water and the Queen's gardens. He brushed a lock of hair from the woman's face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Welcome to Asgard, pipit."

* * *

Soaking in scalding hot water was a balm after all those months in a mangy backwater. His bath was scented with spices and soap, transforming the water a murky, milk color. Loki relaxed as the servant washed his hair, combing back his locks with practiced hands. Another scrubbed his limbs free of dirt and grime and a third stood off to the side, alert to his wants for drink. Unbidden, the attendant refilled his glass when it dipped below an unseen line.

A timid knock asked for entry and he allowed it. Head bent at a subservient angle, the man relayed the Queen's message. Loki grunted his compliance, sipping his drink and relishing the burn before he provided a verbal answer. The servant bobbed again and backed out. The Queen was such a worrywart when it came to her second son. Behind his glass, Loki's smile gentled with genuine warmth. He had missed her most of all. Dinner with his mother would be a welcomed affair. Cleaned and perfumed, Loki donned a silk robe and entered his room, frowning at the empty bed.

"Where is she?"

"M'lord?"

His frown threatened to become a scowl and Loki waved his hand to the bed for emphasis, as if the valet should know of whom he spoke. "She. The girl. She was to be properly bathed and brought back. Who has failed in such a simple task?"

The man blanched. An ireful second prince was a regrettable occurrence and not one people lived through should ireful escalade into flat anger. He gulped down his trepidations.

"M'lord, the maids brought her back—she was still unconscious then—and deposited her in the foyer, unsure where to place her. As you requested she was," but Loki cut him off, bidding him and the rest of the footmen away. They scampered out with experienced refinement of movement, shutting his doors with nary a sound.

Now it was only he and the mortal. Ignoring her form on the couch, Loki strode over to his armoire. Tired as he was from taxing his magical reserves Loki had the servants pamper him including drying his hair with a towel. It was still damp when he wove his fingers through it and the ends curled up but it would do. Shifting through his wardrobe, Loki found an acceptable pair of slacks and tightened the belt around his waist. Frigga would send the cook into a frenzy when she saw how thin he became—he had never been anything but lean before the event and even then she slipped him extra servings and treats. She would try to stuff him like a goose destined for foie gras. Loki rolled his eyes in an endearing way. She was nothing like her husband and only vaguely similar to her first born son—his better, more redeeming traits, Thor got from their mother. Thoughts of his male relatives had Loki spare a glance at the mortal in the foyer. Loki detested sharing his things. He couldn't see her but he did smell her.

_Anacephalic, gossiping trucklers,_ he cursed. They couldn't follow a single order to the letter, a very simple one at that. Give the girl a bath. She was unconscious, for King's sake! How difficult could it have been? Clearly he overestimated their intellect. Smoothing gel into his hair, Loki considered his appearance acceptable.

He crouched down to better view the mortal and hummed, neither impressed nor contemptuous of her form. Fetching by mortal standards when cleaned up but he has known ethereal beauties and no, she did not compare. And tiny. Itty-bitty. Lilliputian. Even a mortal man—enraged at the time—could pick her up single-handedly. Not of the warrior class, obviously, though she lacked not in spirit. She who defied him.

_Jane_.

He tasted the name along with the memory, and while agreeable on the tongue it kindled no fires of passion. No, she held his interest via other means, other more intriguing features. He saw facets of an idiosyncratic nature, curious intellect fueled by unquenchable thirst. A kindred soul if you will. Stealing her previous owner's books to learn. Aiding the forsaken beast—him—and looking at him with wanting wonder held spellbound by the mystery he exuded. Doing tasks considered unsuitable for her kind—truly, raising dogs of all creatures? So many quirks. Loki sniffed and snorted, giving his somnolent audience a squiggly pursing of the lips. She smelled clean, of lavender, but he detected a more visceral scent of outdoors and canid. Passing thought wandered by, marveling if her years living with hounds made her smell like them. Did her body absorb the redolences of her environment until they became her own yet not her own? Mortals were such curious lot; but those were thoughts for a later day. Besides, she had her own scent underneath the dogs and lavender and meadows. It was—Loki leaned in, his nose almost touching her hair—milk and honey. She smelled just like her voice sounded. How felicitous. But how she smelled thus was puzzling. Loki sniffed her again. Now, she did not reek of literal milk and honey; rather, her scent invoked the association. Soothing and warm, it comforted like heated milk sweetened with a generous spoonful of honey on cold or lonely nights.

Loki shook his head. Ridiculous thoughts.

Sleep did little to mask her anxiety. More than one wrinkle drew across her brow and a short downwards pull on her lips foretold of the turbulence roiling below. Unhappy even in sleep; what a difficult wee oscine he's acquired. One he didn't plan on relinquishing, or sharing. That got his mind on track. Licking the pad of his thumb then snapping his fingers sparked the saliva with magic. Green dust puffed into being from the sparks, growing darker and larger by commanding fingers swirling it this way and that. When it reached a potency, a color green of zero intensity it looked black, Loki bade it forth. Though unconscious she shied from the magic's presence, another furrow notched her forehead. It crawled around the mortal's throat, not delicate in its touch and she murmured disturbed incoherencies due to the feel. The dust solidified, glowing hot like the volcanoes from the southern isles of Muspelheim but cool to touch, what remained was a solid metal torc of his colors and imbued with his magic. Brushing his hand over the necklace sent a ripple of illuminating lights as the torc responded to his persona and corresponding magic.

Satisfied, Loki stood and finished dressing for his dinner with the Queen. He considered her awkwardly curled up form on the couch; she would wake up with knots and kinks all over. Loki exited his chambers and beckoned one of the footmen lining the halls. His words were terse and to the point. The footmen bowed and went to do as instructed. The magic would last a while yet so he planned to thoroughly enjoy his mother's company.

* * *

Jane felt sick. Nauseously, achingly, half-dead sick. Her head felt like someone tried crushing it in one of those dark age devices, turning a lever to continuously apply pressure until she popped like a pimple. Nasty imagery all around, which Jane immediately regretted as her stomach heaved. Thankfully nothing was in it or this very nice rug wouldn't smell so nice anymore. Since when do forests have nice rugs? It all came back to her.

_Fuck_.

Rushing to her feet proved not a good idea. Black dots spotted her vision from all the blood flowing from her head and her legs buckled as one of them was half-asleep. Neurons fired worse than a trigger happy lunatic in pheasant hunting season while her blood churned sludge-like in her veins. However much she wanted to move or could think about moving, doing, her body failed to respond. Hyperventilation was a few breaths away. Jane inhaled deeply, held it a tick, released it and repeated until her heart rate felt relatively calm. She needed calm. Clarity. Reason. Wit.

Opening her eyes again, for she closed them to regulate her breathing, Jane saw where she was. Conversely, she saw where she wasn't: She was _not_ in the forest; she was _not_, judging by the thin air, near sea level. Mountains? The room—rooms her peripherals corrected— was decked floor to ceiling in finery, fine things, very delicate, breakable things. A vicious, vengeful part of her desired to pitch a tantrum of epic proportions. Crush all his possessions to teeny tiny pieces. Jane smash! But that would waste precious time because… Her limbs flexed to life, the pains and sickness receding until she felt vaguely normal. Jane snuck glances in the rooms to confirm her thoughts.

No one else was here. She was alone. Loki—Jane grit her teeth over that name; she hated that name, that man—was gone, not here. But he would return, wouldn't he? Nervousness flooded her core and Jane swatted at it. She did not trade one collar for another. Involuntarily her hand rubbed her neck and Jane jumped. As if scalded, she retracted her fingertips and then hesitantly reached back to verify her fears. She scavenged for a reflective surface and her jaw slackened at the monstrous picture looking back at her.

He-he put an actual collar on her! _That rat bastard! That bloody, damnable cur! I'll castrate him, douse him in oil and flambé the rest of whatever else I don't shear!_ Thinking of ways to torture and desecrate Loki's corpse was a pleasant diversion for a few minutes. It expanded into many more when no visible clasp or amount of tugging, pulling, or scratching removed it.

_Magic._ Jane swore all the more.

She did all the right things. Jane kept her head down, didn't cause problems for her former master and not that much trouble for the deceased hound master, gave strangers courtesies and acts of kindness—she lived her life the right way. If you could believe it, she acted according to a set of ethics, which was a paradoxic, satirical farce in this world that did not share her sentiments on morals, clearly. In return, life gave her this. Again. No more head ducking. No more kindness, certainly not for Loki, not ever. Once she got out of here, if she ever came across him dangling from a cliff to certain death, she'd turn tail and leave him to his fate. She might even light a fire under the rope to help it along.

From the torc Jane realized she was wearing nicer clothes, too, and she—another sniff to properly identify the flower—smelled like lavender. The garments flowed diaphanously around her person, silk and soft-spun wool of grey-blue like the sea before a storm. Jane lifted the edges and looked beneath. Yep. She was wearing a dress. She had never worn a dress in all her years—why would she? Dresses don't work well when running after mud-splattered hounds. Biting her lip Jane weighed her options. Deal with the dress, escape now. Or, look for pants and escape after. A dress won't work well in a forest. Most likely no one will walk in on her while she's changing. Most likely.

Jane did not like those odds, but she really needed pants and more importantly pockets. Quick as a rabbit Jane ducked into the main room, shuffled though the dresser's contents and scowled at what she found: Nothing in her size, that was for sure. Whomever lived in these chambers was gigantic. Gigantic and lean. And male, a person who loved green and—the dots formed an outline and Jane drew connecting, conclusive lines.

She was in Loki's room.

_Fuck_.

_Fuck, fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck._

Jane threw back the clothes and ran out of his sleeping chambers. Why was she in his room? Why wasn't she in the servants' quarters or the stables, or with other staff members? Why Loki's personal room? Jane buried her head in her hands. She woke up to a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare.

All that previous energy evaporated, Jane falling back onto the same couch she woke up on. Swallowing had the acidic after taste of bile but Jane didn't care about the rug anymore. Certainly not his rug. Morosely, Jane looked over the room again. Huge tapestry, check. Heavy, ornate wooden furniture, check. Crackling, villainous fire, check. Her clothing from before, washed and folded, che—What? Jane lunged for them, all but crying over the comforting aroma of her dogs beneath all that soap. She shucked her dress and donned her old clothes with a smile. Her suspenders and bag, too. A couple of tears leaked out and she messily wiped at them. They worked like a shot of expresso. She could do this. Totally do this. Jane made for the door, hand on the knob but it rattled and opened without her doing so.

"Ah, you're awake. Very good. I brought you some things and, oh dear. Did the dress not fit properly? Usually the tailors are much better about measuring." The valet chattered as he entered the room with pillows and blankets, an amicable smile on his face. Jane returned his look with a suspicious, angry cat glare of her own.

"Where am I?" she cut through his prattling and he gave her rude actions no visible reaction.

"My apologies. You were quite out of it when you arrived. Welcome to Asgard."

"Asgard?"

"Yes," he moved to set down the blankets, working while talking. "The Asgard Mountains. Quite a profitable kingdom along the Western border. The tundra of Jotunheim is much farther north, though we have our skirmishes, and the city states of Midgard are to the south and east of us. You came from the far east, correct?"

Asgard? She was in Asgard? She's never heard of Asgard!

"How far east?" Her tone was not friendly, certainly not like the valet's and a cursory wariness passed over the latter's face.

"The prince did not say. He was weary though and that begets much distance traveled, especially under transportive magic. It can be rather strenuous."

Jane nodded, not really understanding. "So, it's far away, that makes sense why I haven't heard… Prince? What prince?"

The valet gave her a look. "Prince Loki, of course, second prince of Asgard."

"Loki?" Her voice leapt into a shriek. Jane clamped a hand around her mouth least she scream again.

"Miss," the valet's mouth edged down in concern. "Are you alright? Shall I you a glass of water?" Jane didn't hear him, barely registering him going over to a pitcher and pouring a glass. Loki—Kaunaz, the beast, that horrible, terrible man—was a prince. A being of power, literally and politically. People in power all over again. She had promised herself otherwise.

Jane looked hopefully at the man's back. "I'm not here of my own will. Loki kidnapped me, took me away from my own family. Please, how do I get out and back east?" The valet paused in his ministrations. He did not turn around to face her.

"The castle is lovely this time of year. Queen Frigga has a fondness for greenery and while her prized jewel is the Royal Gardens, the castle has many trees and flowers and courtyards of verdure splendor. Winter had its own charms, too, but the cold makes it difficult to stay outdoors long." He was not talking to her. Rather he was reciting a speech, she discerned to her growing panic. "Prince Loki has a temper but he provides gratitude and benefits to those competent at their jobs. You'll see." She did not want to see. "Life here is congenial compared to other civilizations. Many win their freedoms and choose to stay."

The valet returned, offering her that glass of water and a smile. Jane's left arm muscles contracted. "I'm sorry," she told him before tackling him, hand on his mouth to muffle his squawk of surprise. He grabbed at her, fisting her hair, and she was not match strength for strength, so Jane made do with grappling. Flipping onto his back, she wrapped her arm around his carotid and squeezed. Her dogs were stronger and wrestling with them taught her how to subdue tougher opponents in little time. The man chameleoned purple soon enough and Jane immediately released him once he lost consciousness. She repeated her apology as she dashed for the door, snatching up her bag as she went.

An empty hallway. Good start.

Unfortunately she had no notion as to which way was out. Trial and error were not appealing but no other options were viable. May be it was a small castle. Asking for directions could very well land her back in her cell, aka Loki's room; she wouldn't chance it. Peering out a random window Jane gasped and promptly glued herself to the opposite wall. Holy hellfire they are high up. Impossibly high up. How-could-she-still-breath high up. Aside from leap frogging on a docile mountain goat, she wasn't sure how to get down. Details. One bridge at a time. Other hallways had people, sometimes lots of people, but keeping her head down and gait purposeful saw that no one bothered her. In fact, most didn't spare her a second glance. Jane internally cheered.

Along her throat the collar tingled. She ran a few fingers over it, puzzled by the heat it offered. Warmer than usual. Odd. Jane walked on, growing a little frustrated when she passed the same arcade for the fifth time. Some guards entered but Jane paid them little mind. If they bothered her she already had an acceptable lie—while a terrible liar, at least the lie sounded true and it worked before—but it was nonetheless unsettling to see one point at her and say something to his group. He shouted his intentions across the corridor.

"Halt! Prince Loki demands your presence." No need to tell her twice. Jane pivoted and bolted quick as a sprite down the other end. The guards called after her, their armor clanking in time with their steps as they jostled after her. Fear made her fly, jumping over obstacles and weaving through the masses and dodging their outstretched hands, too swift for them to catch. Until one of them did.

"Truly, you test my patience songbird; although I am grateful you remained lost long enough for me to enjoy my meal." Blood to ice, Jane grew ashen and sick at the sight of his cyan eyes gone smoky grey and the light smirk playing upon his features. "Alas, I can't chase you all day and you reject the largesse and liberties I magnanimously bestow you. So be it." Onlookers openly stared, many curious as to who this person their prince brought back with him and for what reason. Neither Jane or Loki gave their audience much thought. Jane flinched violently back, held only in place by Loki's hold on the torc as she made to flee. It wouldn't do to have his songbird fly away. His other hand sketched a series of runes in the air and half a breath later Jane was back in her cell, aka Loki's room, not to mention very dizzy. The words were out before she processed them.

"Take it off." It was not a request.

Loki quirked a brow. "I admit you're quite lovely but that's not why I brought you here." Jane processed his insinuation and scrambled back far as his hold would allow, arms hugging her chest protectively. Loki laughed at her distress. His hands went to work, weaving another runic spell in place and when Jane squirmed too much, Loki threw her on the bed and held her in place by grabbing her ankles. He finished the spell verbally and the runes circled around her ankle, teasing the skin and giving her unpleasant shivers. Loki stood back admiring his work.

A shackle of quality metal, silver and etched with gold runes, looped around her right ankle with a short collection of chain links that jingled as they dragged across the floor. They connected to nothing, almost as if mere decoration, a mummer's farce of freedom. Jane glared at him, trembling with poorly restrained fury.

"Take off these, these abominations, you—"

Loki grinned boyishly. "Say please."

"Take them off or I'll skin you in your sleep!"

His grin became lecherous, not at all perturbed at her violent declaration. "You'd willingly come to bed with me? Why, Jane, how bold of you." She burned a delightful, endearing shade of red. Such fun.

"You villainous leviathan! You damnable cur! You kidnap people to serve you—I know I'm not the first, probably not the last—and then the same happens to you, having your freedom stolen, and you mudsling my people as barbaric? The only cruelty they ever committed was letting you live to haunt me." No longer grinning, Loki tugged at the torc, pulling Jane closer and forcing her to tilt her head back to make eye contact. Anger and fear swirled in her eyes—more hazel than brown; Loki's grip tightened just so around the collar and felt her pulse jump.

"I saved you from a life of destitution. You were homeless and living in a forest. If I did not find you, another less benevolent being would have come across you. Your already brief life would have been shortened considerably. Yet I receive no thanks for my efforts. A life where you want for nothing in a castle you toss aside. I thought you were smarter than that, Jane." Her name echoed like he owned it and for him, he did. Jane straightened her back.

"He who dies with the most toys is still dead. What good to things do for me when I don't want them? I want my freedom. I want my family. Let me go."

Loki's patience wore precariously thin and Jane saw a flood of disgruntlement wash over his visage until he smoothed it out. When he opened his eyes again, they were cold. "I'm not sure you comprehend your situation. I _own_ you. My will is law and absolute and your wants are subject to my whim. Until I say otherwise. If you would but listen, you'd see how pleasing me can be of great value. For instance," he released her and walked over to his bed, magicking himself into nothing but a silk pair of pants. Jane eeped and averted her gaze, some of the blood coming back to her cheeks. Loki leaned back on the bed and smirked into his hand. "Sing me to sleep and I'll remove one of the two."

Jane threw a nasty grimace his way and turned to leave. She tripped three steps later, just shy of reaching the door. Loki held up a chain, the links connecting all the way back to her ankle. _How?_ Those were not there a second ago. They vanished. She picked herself up and tried again. Jane made it past the door but halfway into the foyer, the chain grew taunt and she yelped as she was dragged back into Loki's room. The chain was back and Loki fiddling with the links. Fake innocuous looks and all, Loki pretended not to notice her. Jane ran for the doors and skidded her knees when the same chain pulled her back. Loki had not moved from his bed though he looked more pleased than the cat who ate the canary. Once more, the chain vanished.

"I'm waiting." Jane scowled, crossed her arms, and turning her back on him, set forth to ignore him the rest of the evening. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid…_she chanted to herself until her anger burned out, going from boil to simmer, and she chanced a peek over her shoulder. He wasn't watching her, reading out of a large, leather book. She bolt, this time making it one step and face-planting for her efforts. Loki's shoulder's shook with repressed mirth. "My offer won't last forever, songbird." Jane huffed.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

"You're blankets and pillows are in the corner. Ah-ah-ah," he tsked when she made to drag them out of his room and tugging lightly on the now present chain. "You sleep here."

"I most certainly will not!"

Loki sighed. "We've had this conversation about your will and my will. How do you think this will end?" He got a pillow to his face. Bewildered, he just stared for a moment. She just threw a pillow at him. Loki stood and Jane squeaked, remembering just how scary and powerful he was and dove under the bed when he made to grab her. She huddled there, head in hands and watched as his feet toured around the bed. Above where she couldn't see, Loki smiled. This mortal was more entertaining than he thought. Throwing pillows at him? It has been too long since he engaged in light-hearted fun and trickery.

"Hiding under the bed? Didn't anyone tell you that's where monsters hide?" His voice was all mirth and mischief. He toyed with the still visible chain, hearing her suck in a breath as the metallic chain clinked along the floor, but didn't tauten it. Rather he toyed with her alternating between taut and slack until he felt her guard drop and yanked hard. Jane screamed as she was dragged out and tried to get back under. Loki pinned her, ear-to-ear grin at her fear. Smelled as good as he remembered, and he heard her heart beat, too. For such a frightened thing she didn't often act like it.

Jane did not see a way out of this. She spoke before he could do anything. "You swear you'll remove one if I sing?" Loki's hand stilled and leaned back a smidge. He showed her his unnaturally sharp teeth and Jane gulped.

Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth. They must have been talking about him.

Loki got up and returned to bed, though his eyes followed her. Jane suddenly felt cold and jittery. She was not a performer. She didn't sing for people on command; she sung to soothe puppies and to beckon her dogs to sleep when they were sick. Her voice was nothing special; there were much better singers out there and the songs she knew were mostly children rhymes and lullabies. Loki frowned when she remained silent and Jane felt the air grow colder. She shivered and crawled over to the pillows and blankets. Her "bed". In his room. She did not like those connotations.

"Can I have some water?" It pained her how meek she sounded but Jane was tired and sore and jumpy. She wanted to be nowhere near Loki but, for now, she had to make do. She needed to adapt. When he lowered his guard, she'd be gone quicker than a blink. But now she had to sing. Loki motioned to a pitcher and Jane poured herself a glass, downed it and then poured another that she sipped. Loki's patience was wearing thin again; she could tell. She stumbled over the first few words and stopped, feeling Loki's glare. She shut her eyes to tune him out and buried herself in better memories. Memories of her mother, hazy as they were. The words flowed from there.

"Sunshine, you are my sunshine…" Jane's voice was soft, but the room was quiet so it carried well enough. The room got a little warmer the more she sang. Just before she nodded off, she felt a blanket drape over her. The image of her her mother came and went, drawing a tear from one eye. "Momma?" she slurred, sleepy. Fingers brushed at the tear track and that was the last she recalled before darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

******I updated! [Strikes pose] But t**his chapter was like pulling teeth with wet floss. I had a difficult time thinking of scenes and getting my mind into Dark Loki. Which I think I'm failing at. I just want to make him puppy cuddly and sweet and that's bad! And unbelievably so, I fear I'm trying to give this story a plot. What is wrong with me!? Therefore, this is going on the back burner until I can crank out some ideas for WMHB (as that one has stalled worse than a first generation Chinese automobile); plus this one was meant for sporadic updates anyway. 

**Thumbs up to those kind enough to review; take a bow.**

**Hawkz**

* * *

_A Kindness: Chapter 3_

Jane came out of her slumber with a start, panic sending her heart galloping into her throat and body strung taut as a rubber band shy of snapping. She was on the floor. A hard ashlar floor. The blankets kept her cuddle-worth warm, wool on the bottom and diaphanous silk sheets on top. Jane kicked them away and scowled, blaming them for her current predicament. Early morning hush muffled the room—Jane's breathing less chaotic seeing she was alone—and muted white sunlight trickled through the curtains. Aesthetically, the time of day and architectural layout of the room encouraged beauty in the eye of the beholder. Jane saw nothing beyond a cage of grotesquerie.

She exhaled a measured breath, stretching out her body's kinks. It was too early to be this angry and it exhausted her. Habit dictated she move and while it was early, she usually rose in time with the sun for her chores without prompting. The previous day's events must have taken their toll more seriously than she thought.

_Finn._

Jane rubbed her tears away. She hadn't been able to bury him. Left for carrion and bears. He deserved better and Loki deserved an eternity in the underworld, preferably with a personal demon sticking daggers between his ribs. Raking her finger through her hair calmed her, her actions as much habit as a innate necessity for clarity. Most other servants and slaves back at the house smiled and snickered over Jane's mannerisms. _Just like her dogs,_ they'd chuckle. Petting her dogs calmed them and combing her hair calmed her. Family familiarities indeed.

Speaking of hair brushing, where was her comb? Where were her things? Gone. Her bag was not anywhere in the room. Jane opened the door and went to search the foyer. The potential loss of her whistle made her heart ache anew. Hopefully Loki had not destroyed it and it remained safe insider her bag, wherever that was. Lady Luck smiling down on her, maybe it was in the next room over.

"Up already? I thought you'd sleep the day away to recoup lost strength." His voice dipped into condescension on the word strength, as if laughing internally at the thought of mortals possessing strength. How weak those creatures were compared to him! Jane jumped, his speech eliciting a short yelp. He sat next to an ornate, thick tabletop eating a feast of fruit, bread, and honey washed down with what smelled like tea. Steam wafted from a kettle and a lazy hint of mint tickled her nose. It would be a feast for her whose previous paucity of a meal barely gave her the energy for the day. Food like this he probably considered meager fare.

_ Prince Loki._

A nauseating thought that the beast she helped, now a man—not a man? Not a person? What _is_ he?—was another amoral lord and in response to her unsettling thoughts, Jane settled for glaring at the…creature before her.

Loki slathered a slice of bread liberally with honey. "Come now, I haven't even down anything yet. Can't we save the funny faces post-breakfast?" Jane gave him no reply, sweeping the room for the iconic leather satchel. That ratty old thing being surrounded by all this opulence and quality would stick out like a bloodied butcher among vegetarian aristocracy.

Second day into her captivity afforded Jane time to analyze and realize the lifestyle her captor embraced. He was not dressed for the day, an unfastened cashmere robe and light linen slacks fluttering at the barest breeze from the open oriels. Unlike other mountain tops this one—_Asgard, was it?_—had a vernal climate, cool sunshine and temperate, chilled by a persistent winter nipping at unguarded moments; the zing of a zephyr, the need for a fire, verglas along the window periphery, and so on. The shutters and curtains pulled back to give a lordly view of the mountains, part of the castle, the homes carved into the mountainside and a winding road cutting through the town. Further down that road was the torturous sight of freedom on the horizon that the road disappeared into, knowingly out of reach. Even at this altitude evergreens, chaparral, towering redwoods, and bright maples thrived, and semi-pliant branches soughed in an abrupt northern wind. Jane heard the susurrus and felt it echo up through the mountain and cascade back down into the valley below. That one view during her attempted escape did not do this castle justice. Majestic illustrated this view precisely, and Jane's look of authentic awe pleased Loki.

Following the streaks of sunlight skipping over ancient ashlar, Jane's eyes tracked the runic engravings over the masonry and furnishings. In the sun or not they hummed and thrummed—enchanted—under her curious stare. Stone, wood, and marble fashioned by non-mortal hands held themselves in resplendence and sublimity, a silent splendor their shapeshifting owner could never intimidate. The artistic flare of the room was subtle yet tangible as in the way hair prickles in a change of temperature. Unseen yet perceivable and once felt, the person sought its cause. Jane let the grandeur ripple over her senses, the beauty, the tranquility, acknowledging the makers' skills unit its message of power—implied right to rulership—poisoned the unspoken beauty. Unless granted her freedom, this room would be nothing save a prison.

Jane stiffened, mindful of the stare she sensed boring into her backside. The view distracted her initially but once the fact that she was not alone reared it head tranquility deserted her. Irascibility took up residence in its place putting a vinegary taste on the roof of her mouth. She needed to focus on the important things, not pretty views and architectural designs.

"Where's my bag?"

"No good morning?"

"It would be a good morning without you in it," she snapped, finally letting her eyes focus on his form. He tsked her, a non verbal chide for her poor manners. Loki took a dramatic bite of his honeyed bread, not hiding his grin when he caught her stomach's rumble. He showcased his amusement with rident glee and it grew seeing her flush.

_How did he even hear that across the room? _Because the man sitting at the table is not a man. Wolf in human skin. Flashes of memory and what he could do, did do, had Jane taking an unconscious step back. Lowering her guard would be a dangerous, foolish notion. As it was, Loki's attention was not on her any longer but his breakfast and pamphlet of papers in his lap. Jane stayed on the other side of the room and Loki was content to ignore her after that last grin of his. She was more than happy to do the same. One of her hands raked her hair again and Jane frowned at the knots tangling her fingers.

She wanted her things, dammit.

Jane swallowed her ire for a tone almost civil. "Where are my things, Loki?" For reasons beyond her, that question got his attention sooner than she thought it would. His face stretched up in disbelief and a surfeit of horrid reactions Jane wished not to decipher. That and an analytical gleam played upon his features. Then silence. What used to be tranquil for her now became nerve-racking in his company. She expected some snarky rejoinder yet he said nothing. His tongue wet his lips and his jaw shifted to words unsaid as a knock on the door schooled his face back into a snobbish shield. The entering steward and domestics gave Loki a deferential bow and ignored Jane's presence apart from furtive, agog glances under the guise of work. The maids entered Loki's room to sort through his wardrobe, picking up dirty garments and laying out a clean outfit for the prince. A third maid, a mousy little female hunched over with severe age, hobbled to Jane and held out a set of clean clothes. Jane set her mouth into a firm, polite line.

"No thank you, ma'am."

Loki scoffed from the table, flipping the pages of whatever document the valet handed to him and scrawled his signature. He sent the woman an exasperated stare. "You are not wearing those same clothes day after day. You'll smell."

Jane's replying smile was large and smarmy. "Then kindly point me to the door and I'll not offend your olfactory senses."

The other servants—_were they slaves too?_—shuffled nervously, keeping their eyes downcast yet chanced peeking up to see this event unfold. Rumor circulated this newcomer the prince brought home and locked away in his room. It had been some time since the prince's last consort and this human—human!—compared poorly to his previous lovers. The second prince was known for his whims and fickle nature outside his penchant for mischief. She would not be here long, especially with that attitude. How her head was still attached to her neck was a marvel. Although the larger marvel was the jewelry decorating the girl's neck and ankle. Slaves come and go, lovers come and go, yet never before had the prince clearly marked his conquests. Loki did not treat her as a lover—those who waited upon the prince snorted at such ludicrous rumors; whatever the girl was, it was not a lover—but so far she did not work as a domestic slave. So, what was she?

Loki bore a dissatisfied, disinterested frown. He yawned. "Don't wanna." The servants put the pieces together quickly as to what she was: Entertainment. Pangs of sympathy struck the more tender hearts and one of them felt almost sorry for her. She did not occupy an enviable position, nor one known for long term employment.

Jane found something hefty within reach and Loki had to duck, surprised. "You low-level thief! Give me back my things and take these damn shackles off! You promised." Jane blinked and Loki was no longer his nonchalant self as he stalked over to her with predatory purpose. The castle's staff huddled for safety closer to the door. Her courage lasted until his being threatened her personal space and Jane ducked behind a divan for a quasi-barrier.

"Come here, Jane." Impudently, Jane crossed her arms, not moving. Loki wasted no time asserting his master status. One snap of his fingers the chain magicked into being and Jane barely had the time to curse him before it dragged and hoisted up like some animal in the slaughter house. Blood rushing to her head slowed her thrashing in time and Jane felt her tongue grow thick and numb.

This was bad. Really bad.

"Firstly, I will remove neither as you, stubborn songbird, did not sing me to sleep but yourself last night. Therefore, I'm under no obligation to release you. Blame only yourself for not keeping your end of the bargain. Secondly," Loki let his fingertips caress Jane's exposed abdominals, her retaliating sluggish swipe missing him by a large margin. Jane struggled upright, stomachic muscles torquing and showing just how flexible she was as she pulled her shirt up and tried to counteract the blood flow. Loki made approving noises in the back of his throat, then dropped her with a guttural command. Jane hit the floor with a grunt, vision swimming painfully. The prince of this foreign land stood over her, using his foot to force her on her back.

"Secondly, and most importantly, might," his foot pressed down, squeezing the air from her lungs, "is always right." He straightened his back, smoothing out unseen wrinkles and combing his hair in place. As he groomed himself, Jane greedily sucked in deep, racking breaths. Loki had the maids leave the clothes and finish their chores after which he waved them away so he could deal with his troublesome pet from prying eyes.

Dressing himself was a swift, efficient affair, and by the time he sat down on the divan Jane had gathered her bearings. Another sharp wave of his hand sent her topsy turvy and vertigo roiled messily in her stomach, eyes glassy yet defiant. Continuously defiant.

"You have two options woman. Either wear what clothes I graciously give you. Or," he leaned uncomfortably close, his breath unnaturally cool and timbre raptorial. "I strip you here and now and you can follow me in the castle wearing the torc as your only cover." Despite the blood gravitating down, Jane paled a few shades less red.

"Y-You wouldn't."

"Very well then. Live with your choice." Loki made to rise.

"Wait! Wait! I'll, I'll wear the clothes."

"Good girl," he said as he lowered her gently to the floor. Jane scuttled as fast and far away from him as her limbs allowed. Sadistic fingers crooked at her, beckoning her back. For as long as she dared, Jane didn't move but pushing past the limits of Loki's patience and suffering the consequences of his temper did not appeal to her; thus, Jane warily obeyed, a grumpy glare in place. She stopped shy of arm's length.

Loki pointedly nodded his head to the clothes the maid left. His impatient look told her to dress quickly. Jane took the clothes to the washroom and changed, breathing easier when the chain did not materialize. An unadorned cotton shirt and hemp work pants—one layer and single-stitched—were poor guards against mercurial springtime weather, but the straw sandals were a startling find. She dithered whether to wear them or not. It seemed a cruel farce to have her wear the symbol of freedom—a symbol of freedom in her past life—while still a slave. Jane put them aside. She returned to the atrium.

"I suppose it will do for now," he muttered more to himself than her, clearly unhappy with the clothes she donned. Her stomach growled again and she willfully ignored the food left on the table. Unbidden, a maid came in, took her clothes, and left. Jane's cry of protest went unheeded. She made to follow but the chain clinked into being and she didn't get far. Loki playfully wagged a finger at her.

"You have to earn that, my petite passerine."

Jane gaped at him as he exited the door. She struggled anew. "You can't keep me here! Unhand me!" Loki's fingers wiggled mockingly and though his back was to her, Jane knew he was smirking. Jane shouted expletives as the door closed. Though the chain fizzled away moments later, the doors did not open however much she tried. Her stomach gurgled again and Jane looked longingly at the food. Eating would give her strength and it wasn't like she accepted being here or was grateful for his "generosity". Inhaling teased her with the scent of melted butter on bread and drool flooded her mouth.

_Just, just a bite. Gather my strength. _If she grew too weak, she wouldn't be able to fight him off. Not that her chances were much better at full strength but something was better than nothing. Jane bit down on such thoughts. No matter what if took, Jane swore to stab him in the ribs before she escaped. Or spike his tea with an unhealthy amount of purgative herbs.

Jane pushed the food away, the fruit and honey going to ash in her mouth. Grief, kept at bay by anger and the whirlwind of events, pressed down in her bones and would not he denied anymore. Memories of Finn's life—he had a fondness for chewing on her hair and fingers to get her attention—tainted by recollections of his death. He just went limp. Floppy and unresponsive yet even in death his body hugged her for comfort from the coming storm, the thunder. Forced to leave him, forced to bear her grief alone without the comfort of her family.

Tucking her feet under her, Jane curled in on her self, shutting the outside world and let herself mourn.

Altering angles of sunlight and shadow told of the passing of time as no chime or clock existed in the room. Grief and anger consumed and fed on one another, gorging on her common sense until the violent haze clouding her eyes washed away and a tornado-swept room greeted her. Pottery shards crunched under foot, honey oozed down the walls, book pages littered the entrance hall, a tapestry pulled down and smoking in the hearth, and the wreckage that was Loki's bed equally amused and scared her. Blood reddened her palm from precise cuts, the culprit probably the glass or porcelain she hurled across the room and then used as cutting utensils. Guilty, bloody fingerprints dotted a number of effects.

Loki would not be happy with her.

That the thought came to her and bothered her was disquieting.

Her body and mind protested the strain, the hurt, the melancholy and Jane just wanted a dark corner where she should cry and lick her wounds. She wanted Kazi, and Baldur and Arco and her puppies young and old—she wanted her family. She wanted comfort and love and maybe even a hug. Make that two.

Thinking hurt. Doing hurt. Feeling hurt. That dark corner sounded enticing and Jane wiggled her way into a small space, knees to her chest and let the tears flow, her silence interrupted by the odd hiccup or sob escaping. Being strong, defiant, was hard, bitter work and after the beating her soul took these past few years, compounded by Loki's actions over the past couple days, Jane found herself sore and tired. If only for a little while, her walls came crashing down. Weakness and want and marrow-deep sorrow were calling her.

Jane answered.

* * *

The walk to his brother's palazzo gave him time to think. Asgard Mountain's castle was an enormity, functioning like a city within the larger confines of a castle and each of the royal members had their own grand chambers—chambers more like a countryside castle molded into the larger entity that was the Castle of Asgard. There were times Loki preferred to walk and when walking he liked to think.

She cried last night. He wasn't even sure she was aware of how much her guard slipped in that moment. She looked fragile, child-like and inescapably young. He forgot how young she was even in comparison to her own kind. Perhaps that is why she ignored the obvious danger he exuded and attempted to help him. Perhaps she was just lonely. Last night showed him facets of the girl he saw in the city, lonely and demonstrative, affection flowing easily from her fingertips and into the beings she touched. When he reached out to her then, on mere whim, she curled into his company and volunteered a beguiling warmth for companionship. By her actions this morning, what was last night was involuntary and forgotten.

Displeasure grumbled in his chest.

Loki's steps slowed as he analyzed that feeling, turning it over and looking at all its angles and bemused by what he saw. He concluded he did not like his slave's rebuffing of his presence or his gifts. Back in the city, when she accepted him, thought him only bestial, she joked with him, bantered, told him stories, laughed—she was friendly. A friend.

Loki scoffed at the thought and crushed it. He did not seek a friend. He sought an amusement and he did not like his amusements going sour so quickly. While she wouldn't be the first to be promptly discarded he found her fiery disposition jocular, even unexpectedly delightful at times. Who else but she would throw pillows at he? The memory brought forth a mirthful chuckle and Loki let himself smile halfway. He would be careful not to break her least that fire extinguish to soon, but if he surmised correctly, he could push her quite far and she'd continue to push back, however futile her actions.

A ghoulish grin lit up his features. Yes, he saw this working out nicely. His pretty little songbird welcoming him back home each night, he playing tricks and teasing, and watching her sleep at night. He had never done that before, as she only visited him awake and never drifting off or being completely unguarded. She was comely for a mortal and in her slumber gave whistling, soft snores on occasion; in that form she was hypnagogic inducing as her lullabies. She had turned fitfully among the blankets until he stilled her and as soon as she soon sensed his heat, eased into him. As if she's never slept alone. His body enjoyed the feel of her against him and against his better nature, the bestial side compelled him on the floor, petting her, mollifying her, and sharing an equilibrium of calm being near her generated. He drifted off to sleep, one hand still tangled in her hair and half-pressed against her lithe form.

He slept soundly that night.

Loki grit his teeth; he should not be so attached . His beast blood liked her too much but then again beast blood was notoriously possessive of its things and neither he nor it was happy those days she eluded him post-city destruction. Dissociation between himself and the beast blood in his veins did not exist; they were one in the same, and on more than one juncture the prince groused over the fact. On the other hand, she was marvelously fun to play with and that sharp tongue and wit. This mortal did not fear him. A sliver of a canine eked out from his lip as he smiled. Last night and earlier this morning was him reasserting his claim; Jane—the name rolled over his tongue and he tasted it a second longer before he cast it away again—necessitated extra persuasion of the fact if her efforts this morning were any indication. He woke early enough to untangle himself from her person without her knowing; he did not need her screeching in his ear over her imagined slights. Besides, he did not need her for satisfaction nor crave her to fulfill those desires. There were other, more pleasing women available for that.

Still, she had a je ne sais quoi, almost pheromonal essence he could not aptly define, and it filled his body with jittery, conciliative notions, a mire of contradictions. Whatever she was he did not know and he reviled ignorance. Loki wished to understand, dissect the world's wonders and he found this mortal wonderfully engaging. He had been dreadfully bored prior to his meanderings and his mind rejoiced its passing. This mortal presented a unique experience he could not remember having previous to his chanced meeting her. Offhandedly, he speculated on her reactions to her new lifestyle. Surely she wouldn't be this volatile once she settled in and accepted life in Asgard.

Who, after all, could dismiss the grandeur that is the Castle of Asgard?

That displeasure in his chest dissipated when he reaffirmed Jane's long-term if not permanent residency in Asgard.

He did not announce himself, entering his brother's chambers with familiarity and imperious authority only slightly justified. Nonetheless, Thor's enthusiastic greeting boomed at the sight of his kin and his arms lifted his younger brother up in a bear of a hug. Loki found himself embracing Thor back; he did miss his brother.

"Brother! Welcome back home," he said, voice bouncing off the cavernous walls in a throaty tenor. Unlike himself, Thor was seldom soft-spoken and Loki attributed it to a plethora of years leading the Asgardian army. A general, let alone a commander, did not speak quietly if not by nature then by the demands of the job.

Thor's grin was wide and inviting. "Come, you must tell me of your travels. Mother worried fiercely, as her wont, and had me tour the distant mountains for sight or smell of you. Alas, I did not find you, as per usual. What has kept you away the better part of a year? You have not left the castle for such duration since our youth. Pray tell, what held you attention for so long?"

Thor's friendly touches were a step distant from his mother's pampering though no less loving. He even brought out the good brew and himself poured his brother's stein full and foaming. Crisp, cool and refreshing as Loki remembered of Asgardian beer. The dark-haired shapeshifter made no mention of the chestnut-haired mortal currently locked up in his chambers. She was his find and he did not wish to part with such a treasure yet. He distracted his brother with half-truths, the best kind of lies, and grandiose, exaggerated tales of hoodwinking and hoaxes. From the Rohr Plateau to the Bay of Baldur, Loki wove fact and fiction to wondrous, storyteller effect. Alcohol eased the natural tension in Loki's shoulders, his irenic form draped over the couch while Thor laughed louder, more readily. Curiosity ate at Thor, wondering why his brother skipped over his travels further east in the Midgardian cities.

Loki casually waved his hand. "As for the Midgardian cities, there is no story to tell. Nothing of interest amongst those insipid humans."

Thor smiled, however, his blue eyes belied his keen mind. "Your words rings false, Silvertongue. You say there was nothing of interest in the Midgardian cities to the east yet there you stayed for many moons. Has my foxy brother grown bullish of wit?" Thor's grin dipped into debauched connotations. "Or, have you been charmed by some mortal and wish it clandestine?" The thunderer laughed until he was redder in the face, missing the quick narrowing of Loki's eyes and the twitch at his lips.

"Do not be daft, Thor. Mortals belong where they have always been—beneath us. And not in the way you clearly enjoy." Loki indicated meaningfully to the mortal slaves his older brother had a habit of collecting as spoils of war. More than a few Thor took an interest in were boxum, blonde and undeniably female. Some of the younger ones filtered in and out of the room currently, carrying trays of delicacies or pitchers to refill their drinks. They reeked of mortality and none as pleasant as the one in his chambers. Loki sneered at the ones who dared to come too close whereas Thor openly courted them and rewarded them with the hard candies he himself sucked on. The children's eyes lit up at his rewards and different tongues wagged in thanks, striking Loki with their sincerity. They genuinely liked his brother. The younger brother watched the exchange through half-lidded eyes, equal parts contemptuous and fascinated. Despite their unequal status, Thor gave them sweets and kindnesses and courted them with courtesies Loki did not reciprocate. Loki scoffed at such trivialities.

Thor had more than three score of servants and slaves at his call, spoils of war or from his rare excursions to the slave markets near the Jotunheim border. Out of his need for attention if not affection Thor amassed additional trucklers; he usually enticed his followers via inexplicable charisma, like the pull of smaller objects into orbiting a larger planet, until what was once bondage became a bond. A visceral instinct pulled them to his brother, one even Loki's own servers regularly fell victim to. Much as it irritated Loki, he stoically endured it time and time again. The dark-haired shapeshifter, however, was not without his own sycophants and dutiful vassals. Unlike his brother, he did not regularly engage in the acquisition of servants, slaves or otherwise. His dependents were typically lower-class Asgardian subjects or descendants of helots who worked a number of years to pay for their freedom and some found the work and their lord enticing enough to stay. Loki had his own charms of persuasion.

Except his newly acquired slave genuinely hated him.

Loki paused in thought, testing theories about giving her candy and gaining a song or smile in return. Remembering the times she would visit him in the cage—the laughter, the grooming, that awe-filled gaze when she looked at him up close for the first time—made him feel restless sitting and drinking with his brother. Drowning those feelings with another draught of ale, Loki put on a smile and concentrated on Thor and his latest martial engagement—a boxing match between soldiers of his regiment and another's, Thor's coming out the victors, and Thor gloated with the pride of a father. Loki laughed along with him over the games some of his scouts pulled in his absence, none of them as clever or quick as he though he appreciated the attempts in his honor. Meanwhile they were still on kitchen duty, the general not nearly as good-humored as Thor or Loki.

Draining his cup, Thor let his chuckles fade and something more serious replace them. Loki quirked a brow over his brother's silence. Thor had the child-servant leave the pitcher. "Our father is not young but he is healthy; he'll remain on the throne for years to come but other realms grow restless. There is another civil war in the north and that usually means a spillover into our borders. His advisors bicker like children and I do not trust them as I do you. They have their factions and loyalties and none of your charm or intellect. I believe our father, and our King, will have need of our skills down the road."

Loki set down his stein, attentive. "Jotunheim is always at war, if not with themselves than with those at their borders. Such is how it has ever been. But, rare is it that you mention Father's council. I figured you too busy playing war and soldier to notice the other men in power." His words were more statement of opinion bleeding into near fact and Thor knew his brother well enough not to read them as an insult. Thor leaned in closer.

"Councilman Freystadt, branch member of the Freyr clan, died while you were away." Thor's enunciation of 'died' did not disguise his suspicions. Loki's eyes narrowed. The Freyr clan had not always been loyal to the house of Odin but neither had they been traitorous or incompetent.

"Any other unfortunate accidents while I was away?"

Thor shook his head. "I do not attend the political meetings and see what you do." Admitting or hearing his deficiencies always put Thor in a bad mood but Loki saw his brother compose himself well and barreled on. "But I have my suspicions about this…death out of a more outlandish rumor than of reason." Loki's posture encouraged him on.

"A rebellion."

Loki laughed. "We have had those in the past. What about this one makes the great and powerful Heir to the Castle of Asgard quake so?"

"Because they are winning." Loki's head snapped round to this brother.

Thor moved to the pitcher and refilled his glass, careful not to spill and that put misgivings in Loki's mind. His brother was not cautious or careful, least of all while intoxicated. The silence stretched on and Loki firmly bridled his questions though one slipped out.

"Who?"

"A joint venture by Jotunheim and the Midgardian free cities."

"You speak nonsense, brother. The Jotunns hate all outsiders and weaker creatures, mortals especially. They have no lost love for each other."

Thor gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. "Aye, but Midgard grows tired of its tribute status and Jotunns hate us most of all. Supposedly they join to defeat a common foe. The far eastern Midgardian cities may not be a part of it or are too far to provide assistance but the cities in the west share common ground with Jotunnheim and us. Midgard no longer wishes to pay tax or tribute for trade or protection and the ugly words that have been spoken these last few years suddenly went silent after you went missing. They offered to help look for you. Offered condolences. And that, I questioned because, because…" Thor held his brother's gaze and spoke his words with heavy conviction. "I believe they are the bastards who poisoned you."

Loki had no words.

He had been poisoned, yes, though nothing life threatening; headaches, nausea, distemper, fits of unclarity. That was part of the reason he left Asgard, to travel to temperate islands where the cure grew. So the diplomates were told of his then absence and for once, he had not lied. He intended to go. Frigga pulled him back last minute, asserting her motherly status and confined him to quarters. Instead, she sent her swiftest messengers in his place.

They were all slaughtered save one who bought the cure and had a private company deliver the medicine. Alas, that soldier died under mysterious circumstances, too, before he could report. Nothing about their attackers was known but chilling evidence remained near the corpses. Those who attacked used a rare poison dart, one of the few weapons effective against a skin changer. Like them. He departed Asgard once he healed, much as it caused Frigga to fret, and what occurred during his travels he kept mum.

Neither said anything.

"Whom have you told?"

"No one," Thor grunted. His theories were just that, theories, and he had no substantiation to affirm their guilt. Plain as day Thor could visualize the cogs rotating in Loki's mind as the younger shapeshifter dissected his words, that cunning intellect bright in his not-just-blue, not-just-green eyes. After some time Loki nodded. "I see," was all he said but there was meaning in the look he gave Thor and the latter exhaled relief. Loki was not dismissing his concern or doubts and would keep a watchful eye out. Slowly their talk drifted back to more mundane topics of family, friends, and Thor dropping hints of knowing just what Loki kept in his quarters albeit with much less tact than their mother. He had grown weary of this inquiry and wished to return to his quarters to play with his spitfire pet again and regain some of those pleasant experiences of days past. Thor accepted his excuses though the shapeshifter caught the twinkle in his brother's eye.

At the doors, he leaned in and whispered, "Do I get to meet the mortal soon?"

Loki started, feigning indifference under Thor's grin. When it merely grew, the Liesmith finally growled and snapped out a refusal. Thor's laughter followed him a stretch down the hallway. Touring other parts of the castle cooled his head down. His mother's plethora of gardens. The library. He had ordered his quarters, his occupant, left unattended for the day, allowed time for her to adjust, and he imagined her to be lonely and in want of company by now.

He noticed the honey on the wall first and smelled the burnt fabric that was his tapestry second.

Apparently she got lonelier than he thought.

Loki sighed the way a parent does over a wayward child. He did, however, growl at the sight of his bed. Or what was left of it. For a mortal she had an impressive temper tantrum. Loki half-expected her to emerge like a bull, charging and ranting at his person. The room was deceptively quiet. Nevertheless his keen ears did not miss the ragged breathing in his own room and opening the dresser doors wide revealed the balled up form of his pet. Watery eyes glared at him, her voice hoarse. "Go 'way, turgid troglodyte." She had a way with words, his oscine. Muted eyes took in her form, dried tears and florid nose telltale signs of her emotive state, as well as his mucus-covered clothes now on the dresser floor. Loki quirked an eyebrow, almost smirking at the hiccup that shook from her throat. Dare he say she looked adorable thus, open as a book for him to read and trying to hide behind his linens.

He left her, hearing her sigh of relief as he walked so many paces away. He rang a bell and a valet stumbled through the doors, face ashen at the wanton destruction of the second prince's chambers. Loki instructed the man to fetch some maids and footmen to clean his quarters the rest of the day; he planned to go out. The man jerked a nod and a bow, hustling out to do as bidden. Blue-green eyes centered on her and Jane stiffened. He was too quick. One hand fisted at her collar and he picked her up easy as a kitten, Jane pawing at him weakly. Her outpour of grief earlier wore her out and she struggled to stay conscious. "I hate you! Leggo." Loki paid no mind to her. There was a click of his tongue when he saw the blood on her palms and feet. Truly, his pet had no concept of self-command.

Distantly he recalled when, as a boy, his mother bandaged a stray cat's paw and how it trailed after her in the garden for days, affectionately rubbing against her calves by week's end. Loki set her down on the divan, one of the few things not smashed or set ablaze. When she moved aside, Loki made quick work of the chain and hissed into her ear. "You can either sit her, untethered as I work or I can bind you to the bed and perform a different set of tasks on you." Lies the latter but she didn't know that. The whites of her eyes showed as she nodded and Loki patted her on the head. "Good girl," he intoned, the gentle timbre at odds with his precious hiss. He ordered a set of bandages and tweezers from one of the maids seeping the floors and waited not long.

Jane winced and fidgeted under his ministrations but his grip was unyielding and gaze threatening. Jane tried to take the tweezers and do it herself and Loki just growled something not in her tongue albeit his meaning required no translation; thus, she meekly allowed him to pick out the shards and clean the blood off her hands and feet. Sterile white gauze wrapped her feet and palms in tight, neat knots and Loki handed back the sanguine stained rag to a maid. Jane refused to give thanks, crossing her arms and looking anywhere but him. If not for him, she wouldn't be this injured, this hurt.

Loki worked his jaw; she was being stubborn.

His nose scrunched at the strong basic scent of cleaning solutions. Staying and breathing in those fumes would give him a headache and he could already feel a pulse throbbing on the side of his skull. Beneath the layers of ethanol and alkaline based solutions was the whiff of milk and honey, which lessened the throbbing when he focused on the latter. "You, follow me." Immediately she went in the opposite direction of he and Loki snorted his aggravation. He picked her up none too gently this time, well-placed warnings to cease her squirming so that she trembled lightly in his arms and nothing else. For balance she had to wrap her arms around his neck and Loki liked how close that brought her perfumed being to him. Each inhale was an aromatic opiate that massaged out the knots in his shoulders and cleared his head. She muttered obscenities to him about him and they drew a chuckle from him, incensing her further. When she made to pull away the arm looped around her back squeezed her close; he liked the soft feel of his pet.

From his chambers to the nearest water garden was a short walk and Loki preened when stupefaction colored her eyes. Not all the gardens were works of his mother. His pride and place of sanctuary, tied with his libraries, was this water garden he developed as a younger man and preserved and tweaked over the seasons. Loki set her down, expecting gratitude and was greeted with silence. She was too busy looking at koi and playing with the clear blue water to notice him. Snow melted run off from higher up in the mountains trickled down into this pond, giving its startling sapphire color and the chill of the water gave her gooseflesh.

_Where is her gratitude?!_ Loki groused, his frown deepening the longer she ignored him to play with the fish. She did this too, back in the city—going off on her own and disregarding his needs. It riled him then and riled him now, but now he was not confined and unable to rectify the situation.

Loki's shadow loomed over her, him being so tall in comparison and she sitting on the stone's edge, feet in the water. Narrow-eyed he considered his options: Pushing her in the pond; relatively drowning her until she _begged_ for his mercy; a merry game of chase—for him anyway—in his bestial form. All those thoughts he dismissed, dissatisfied with the overly violent tendency of them. Mortals were abysmally fragile. One second too long under water or a cut too deep and their life-force dissipated like sand in the wind. A caged bird still sings but a broken bird will never sing again. He did not want that.

Her wanted her voice; her banter; her wit; her fire; her passion; her reverence. Each one harder to obtain down the list, but he was Loki, Second Prince of Asgard, Trickster and Skin-changer and more than anything, he loved a challenge. Interlacing his hands behind his back and sorting his thoughts, Loki leaned over his mortal pet until his shadow swamped her person and he could read all the fine hairs prickled along her skin.

"You're getting your bandages wet," he admonished, expecting a rancorous rebuttal.

Silence.

Challenging indeed.

"As my chambers are not fit for inhabitation for tonight and most likely tomorrow as well, you'll have to make do in the gardens. You, my pet, are terribly ill-mannered; I hope to correct that over time." Her jaw clenched, working so as not to bite her tongue yet voiceless all the same. "I'll be sure to teach you proper Asgardian etiquette as you will be here for some time." Aside from a white-knuckled grip in the cornerstone of the silica smooth jetty, she did not react. Again with that stubbornness of hers. His patience wore thin.

"Jane."

Names have power. Not just an identification but an identity, a part of your soul, exists in a name. To call someone by a name and not a moniker invites intimacy, familiarity, domination, submission, and a hotbed of associations and inspirations. A name is more than just a name. Which is why he would rarely call her anything else after this and after this he wanted to hear his name from her and little else. He repeated it and against her will, the command in his voice drew her gaze up. Close up he could read the flecks of gold and color in those brown eyes of hers, wary and resilient in her fatigued state as he expected, as he admired. Closer than she was comfortable with he stood almost touching. Loki's breath fanned down to ruffle her bangs for every exhale. Deceptively so, his words were cajoling and genial, threading their way all over her walls looking for cracks and chinks.

"We'll start with the basics. I call you Jane." She flinched as he spoke her name, as if a caress. Intimate. "And you, you will call me Loki." Greener than usual, his eyes were luminous. She had said his name earlier today but the memory was already opaque, distant. He wanted continual affirmation. To hear it again and again. He shouldn't want a commoner to be so informal with him. Only a name and no title. Slaves do not refer to their masters thus, but he didn't care. It was what he wanted.

Jane said nothing, shaking her head and went to turn her back on him. Snake striking fast, his hand fisted in her hair, drawing out a yelp of pain from her, and reeled her close. The growl was more a vibration than an audible sound.

"Say it," he demanded, pulled back further to expose her throat.

Jane's bandaged hands lacked the dexterity to counter his grip. Wetness dabbed her eyes. She gulped down a breath, her voice raw, "Fuck you."

Loki reconsidered. He could be vigilant not to break her.

"Clearly you're parched and can't yet speak properly. Have some water." He pushed her in the pond and when she came up sputtering Loki forced her head back down. He timed it carefully, hauling Jane back up by her clothing collar. Hacking and heaving for oxygen she didn't look as tired anymore. Dull human nails scraped against his forearm leaving faint red scratches.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You're still thirsty I see." Back under she went, splashing and thrashing and getting him nearly as wet as she though his grip remained firm. So much for keeping her bandages dry. He held her at arm's length.

"Well, Jane?" His teeth dug into the 'n' part of her name, biting off the 'a' in a primeval way.

She spat water at him. Loki did not bother wiping it away. He could be patient when it suited him and today he knew exactly what he wanted.

Time shifted into the existence above water and existence below water for Jane, her struggles fading shade by shade in strength until Loki met no resistance when he dunked her.

"Jane."

She coughed out a mouthful of pond water. "Please, stop…Loki."

The shapeshifter grinned, all too pleased with himself. "Good girl."

Jane was boneless, shivering and pliant, in his arms, and fighting another wave of exhaustive sleep. Loki gently set her down on the outer bench of a gazebo, assured that she would not run, even in her condition. He rubbed the wet bangs out of her face, marveling over the ripple effect of his touch and the evening chill. Long streaks of twilight brushed over the garden, the dimness interspersed with colored lanterns glowing mutedly. A simple timed magic spell would have them incandescent by the time true nighttime descended. Loki breathed deep of the mountain air, filling his lungs with the clear scent of water and fauna, alpine air and home. Jane's scent tickled his nose beneath all that.

Loki rolled his shoulders, that well-acquainted visceral want niggling his spine, and he let the shift come. Sharper canines. Bristly hair growing into fur. Elongated nose morphing into a snout. Rearrangement of bones and musculature. Everything thicker, tougher, longer. The antlers always hurt but the pain dulled into a resigned grunt after so many changes, so many years. His skull formed a pedicle, cracking and calcifying in cycles until it and the coronet were strong enough to hold the weight of his antlers. From there the main beam jutted out, his points tapering into lethal tips. Every change came with an analgesic, adrenaline rush and one Loki worked through by trotting after his little mortal who stupidly thought to run as soon as he began to change.

His limbs being much longer and she, exhausted, did not require expounding the effort to run after her, but he did enjoy the light chase and taunting his pet. She was not happy when he picked her up with his mouth and he did not like Jane pulling out his whiskers. Those were sensitive! Loki dropped her inside the gazebo, blocking the exit with his larger physical form. Jane continued to shiver after he dropped her. The wet clothes would chill her through the night.

"Strip," he told her. Whether her reaction was to his words or that he remained capable of speech in his bestial form Loki could not say. Her shock did not last long against the tide of her anger.

"I most certainly will _not_—"

_Riiiiiiiip._

Jane underestimated the dexterity Loki possessed in his larger form and more importantly his magical capabilities. Honed canines turned her clothing to scraps and Jane took the little victories she could by plucking out another few fistful of whiskers. Furious and seething with mortification, Jane kicked at his teeth, aiming at the nerves in his gums. Smart little songbird. Loki settled the matter with the hustled hex of etched runic symbols that disintegrated the fibers of her clothes and replaced them with dry ones of his choosing. That Loki was gentlemanly enough to magic her a robe, his robe, did not earn him any points of endearment. Not when continually sought her humiliation at his caprice.

Jane willed the tears away; she never wanted to cry in front of Loki again. Devils, after all, care not for another's tears.

The canine shapeshifter nodded to himself as he assessed her, his robe swamping her comically. He would have to tailor better clothes for her. His pet would not dress as a mere commoner, certainly not in his presence or in the presence of others where she indirectly represented him. She would look worthy as one of his attention. He curled his form around her so that she fit snuggly into his belly and felt the rise and fall of his breathing. Loki growled a warning when she tried to slip away and then rattled the chain ominously between his teeth when she was on the verge of succeeding.

He ignored her mongrel comment. For now.

Lethargy siphoned the fervency budding in Jane's chest, leaving her drained and fighting a straitening vision. Mind and body lacked congruence as her mind rebelled against the corporeal heat of Loki's canine form while her body leaned into it, beguiled and uncaring of the haunting mind games he played. Unnaturally colored canine eyes stared at her to which Jane scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. A wheezy chuckle rumbled his frame. As it was, somnolence leeched at her senses and one by one they blackened as Loki observed her unguarded face. This he savored like fine wine. In sleep, vulnerable and open, Jane's impulses came to life; how she nestled into his belly and sighed, a good sigh, over his canid redolence; how she craved his warmth and the company he provided. That fire within her fluttered cautiously when she thought no one was looking, her fear unmasked.

He loved the contradictions she embodied. His siren of a serin trying to pass itself as a mighty nightjar.

In time, Loki planned to have these impulses present during day, autumn brown eyes cognizant and acknowledging his effect on her. He'd prefer not to have to result to belligerent corrective measures, but if his pet required a strong hand, he would not shy. He could—would—show her his kinder side; the benefits of pleasing one of his status, how gentle his touch could be. If she would not sing presently—but she would, he swore it—then perhaps talking would have to suffice. That caustic barb of a tongue would be a vivacious companion to have in his library; it was so rare he could discuss topics with a wit as swift and sharp as his own. That Jane did not shy from him for all his rough treatment—regrettably so, he would do better in the future; of course he would—made him giddy.

Loki set his muzzle down alongside Jane's side, black gums stretching into a smirk when she leaned onto his snout as one would a pillow.

She liked to read; those scarce instances where she visited him bearing one of her pilfered copies flashed bright in Loki's mind, and he had books. He had three libraries of books and tomes and lexicons and pictographs and grimoires of rarity and beauty beyond mortal comprehension. He would show her these tomorrow.

_Kindness and patience_, he reminded himself. _Tomorrow_.

Waking up entangled in the forepaws of a canid shapeshifter—who drooled by the way—was not the kind of morning Jane liked. _This better not be a recurrence. _

The garden was bereft of any patrol, servants, soldiers, or otherwise; the quiet hinted of a place ensorcelled with sleep, even the crickets who chirped lustily into the night. Now it was peaceful. For the eternity of a minute Jane let herself be deceived by it, but the drool-drenched robe was an unfriendly remembrance of her circumstances. Loki's legato breathing was somniferous and Jane pushed herself away, sorely tempted to kick his exposed ribs. The fact that it would physically hurt her more than him stayed stayed Jane's foot. Running now would only waste energy. So long as she retained this leash and he resided in his larger form Jane could not hope to evade recapture and it was a bitter truth she had to acknowledge. If she wanted to survive, to escape, it necessitated shrewdness. Jane sucked in a steadying breath.

Indomitable will. Where all else failed, this would get her through.

Verses lined with the silhouette of her mother and the mettle of more than just memory welled forth; speaking them aloud gave them shape and her a steroidal infusion of courage.

"No one is beat till he quits,

No one is through till he stops,

No matter how hard Failure hits,

No matter how often he drops,

A fellow's not down till he lies

In the dust and refuses to rise.

Fate can slam him and bang him around,

And batter his frame till he's sore,

But she never can say that he's downed

While he bobs up serenely for more.

A fellow's not dead until he dies,

Nor beat till he no longer tries."

The sough of water was her only reply and for that Jane was grateful. Loki drooled on while she went to wash up near the pond. Loki yawned awake moments later and stretched into his humanoid self.

"Good morning, Jane." She splashed the pond water on her face, rubbing away sleep and gargling out her morning breath as much as possible.

"Morning," she spat. A large hand with minutely longer and infinitely more aciculate nails touched her neck and lingered. Loki's breath was deceptively cool in her ear.

"Good morning. _Jane_."

Jane gulped and reminded herself to play by his rules. For now. "Morning. Loki." She spoke his name as a sullen mumble and growled when she felt him pat her head.

"We'll have to work on that. Now come along. We'll break our fast in the library."

"Why do I have to join you? Go find some other—You have a library?"

Smirking to himself, Loki reeled her curiosity in by expounded on all the subjects his library housed, catching how her eyes lit up at the mention of far-flung lands and astrology. He filed away that information for later. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, Loki lead her to his library, the central one, with dangling tidbits of book titles and quoted excerpts with thespian candor. His gait gained a swagger as she slipped questions and requests for more. Everything stopped when he threw open the doors to his central library. He grew smug over her slack-jawed response.

While his pet toured the bookshelves nearest the oriels, Loki conjured parchment to compose a writ, informing the scullions what he wished to break his fast and where to bring the provisions as well as a set of day clothes for his companion. Shallowly slicing the pad of his thumb caused blood to trickle out and he used it effectively as one would a wax seal. Another few gestures transmitted the parchment down to the kitchens.

Jane had not given him a second thought after entering the library, too busy digesting what books she could read and gazing longingly at those in obtuse languages long dead and beyond her. Open for her audience of one to see, authentic smiles bloomed with every new title she read, a tiny pink tongue darting out when a particular book caught her fancy. Those above her reach drew dragon-snorting and huffing from her and then a triumphant exhale when she stood on top of a rickety assemblage of furniture to reach new heights. Across the room, Loki watched, fascinated. He had never seen her thus. Jane collected a precarious armful of books by the time their food arrived. Jane gave it an indifferent glance and went back to perusing titles, her fingers mimicking the engraved titles on his leather bound editions of "The Heavens of Midgard" volumes one through four.

Loki draped himself on one of the divans as if it were a dais and proceeded to serve himself tea. He had gone through three cups and a heavily jammed slice of bread before Jane wandered by close enough for him to snatch. He closed the book.

"Hey! I was reading that!"

"And now you're not. It is time for breakfast." While his tone was civil, Loki's posture dared her to get out of her seat. He shooed her behind a bookcase to change into the newly arrived attire and worked his way around her protests by chicanery and the sinister green glow smoking from his fingertips. Upon her return, Jane leaned back into her seat and sat in the chair furthest from him. She'd rather not be kicked out of his library because he had the maturity of a child but she would not engage him in all his twisted little games. Jane looked quizzically at the assortment at the table. She recognized most of it.

"Prosciutto," he clarified. "Cured ham sliced exceptionally thin." Steepled hands formed under his nose and against his mouth. He looked, expectant.

She didn't touch anything.

His face curdled into the beginnings of a frown, stopped, and then his poker face came back into play. Loki sipped his tea. He made a dramatic show of eating a slice. "It's not poisoned. See?" Jane snapped up a glare at him and told him to choke on it. His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle. "I can't have you fainting on me half-way through the day. Are you telling me I have to find another way to get this food down your throat?" She looked positively mortified and his mirth erupted into an honest reverberation. Jane hastily stuffed down a slice, taking no chances of it being a joke or not.

Salty as cured meat is but silky in texture, with the fat thin enough to melt from the heat of her mouth alone. It was _good._ She's never eaten anything of such fine quality before and the sensations on her tongue were delectable. In the back of her throat hummed a faint moan of pleasure and she served herself another slice and some bread and honey, too. She was famished! Sipping the last portion of her drink Jane blinked to find Loki staring. He did that often and Jane did not like being on the receiving end of it. What's worse was it seemed to be becoming an ingrained habit of his. Jane licked at the lingering drops of milk on her bottom lip and shifted uneasily. "What?"

He took his time answering. "Have you truly never eaten this fare before?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "You're not that stupid, Loki. You know there are people in this world that are not blessed with wealth and the means to acquire these items." Saying it aloud made her pause and Jane pushed the mug of milk away, guilt bludgeoning her stomach.

"I am well aware the status of our world, mortal," he snapped. "But your former owner did not lack in that way. Did you not pilfer items, food, that would not be missed?" Jane grew as angry as he over his implied slander against her integrity.

"While he deserved any unseen slights given to him, no, I did not, do not steal. What I gained was rightfully mine. Even as unscrupulous beasts try to take it from me." The barb did not go unnoticed though his mien was unconcerned.

"We've discussed 'rights' and what constitutes it. Your argument fairs poorly in light of reality, dear Jane," he said as he brushed at some crumbs.

Jane's white-knuckled grip kept her seated. "Just because all others descended into madness did not mean I had to follow. I am more than capable of making my choices nor am I a blind sheep willing to follow a shepherd to the slaughter just because he wields a staff and a dog with sharp teeth."

"Yes, that does sound like you," he murmured. He poured another cup of tea, pushing it towards Jane and took no slight when she did not accept his proffered cup. It sat on the table and wafted steam. Perhaps she didn't care for lemon tea. He sipped his own drink, bored with her monologue of righteousness. "So, are you telling me that no matter the circumstances you'll remain untainted and pure of heart? How heroic of you."

Jane snorted. "No one can; I don't see why you should expect different of me."

"But you—" He looked genuinely puzzled by her reply.

"I kept my head most the time but not always. I said I didn't steal and I didn't lie. Doesn't mean I didn't do what I had to to survive. Like stabbing a master in his ribs." She spoke the last sentence hypothetically, cheerfully so. "I would most certainly stoop to that level of madness before bolting."

Loki smiled indulgently at her, delighted by this turn of events he had not foreseen. "And you think yourself capable of murder, songbird?"

"Mortals," her voice grew hard, "are capable of anything given the right circumstances. I think you're about to learn that the hard way."

"Hmm. How foreboding." His lips twitched up in true trickster-inspired fashion. "You enjoy it here in the library, yes?" The earlier bravado fled and Jane shuffled her true desires behind an incoherent mumble of deflecting statements and insults.

Loki rolled his eyes; his pet was an atrocious liar. "Never mind. I ask the obvious. Very well, you are to go choose a book, read it, and come back here and we discuss it. Understand?"

Perplexed, Jane tilted her head. "You, want me to educate myself and argue academics with you." He said naught and sipped his tea. "We'll stay in the library today. Do not leave through those doors without my explicit permission. I will give you free reign of this facility given you make progress on your manners."

"My manners are impeccable. It is _you_ who acts like a brutish marauder, deficient of any virtues and chock-full of only vices."

Loki's grin grew teeth. The vitriolic parlance of his pet was not to be underestimated. Jane waited not for his dismissal and snatched her book from him and stalked off to a distant part of the library to read. She ignored the stare needling her right between the shoulder blades. She rather expected him to hit her for speaking thus; not to smile. His actions fostered a scowl on her face. Whatever his intentions, Jane cared not. He would grow bored with her, this she had faith in; his personality stunk of childish immaturity and short attention spans. She would not fascinate him for too long and as soon as he turned his back on her Jane would be gone and he wouldn't care. This was just a passing fancy and one she had to ride out.

From across the room, Loki continued to stare over his teacup, a smirk darkening his features. "Fascinating…"


End file.
